


One of Us Got Clumsy

by callmejude



Series: Too Long, Too Close [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies) RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Bathing/Washing, Biting, Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Marks, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Subdrop, cuddly bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:36:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmejude/pseuds/callmejude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There’s such finality in his voice that Chris feels abruptly ill. He wants to apologize. He wants to take it back and stay, stay however long Sebastian wants him to. He’d thought this was the right choice, but now he feels like he’s ruined everything.</i>
</p><p>----<br/>This may have started just for Sebastian, but that doesn't mean Chris had nothing to lose.</p><p>(Companion to chapter 9 of You Once Said if We Were Careful)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chris has never seen him look more beautiful, arms above his head, stretched pliant and perfect, blindfolded and naked underneath him and Chris’s heart is pounding in his ears because this is everything he wants, everything he’s _ever_ wanted. He’s so close it’s hard to tell where his body ends, the edges of his skin blurring as Sebastian whimpers beneath him.

This is _his_ , he thinks wildly, something quick and animalistic taking him over. This is his and he won’t share it, not with anyone. 

“You want me to claim you?” he snarls, and Sebastian’s mouth falls open, nodding. “You want everyone to know?”

Sebastian drops his head a little to the side, limp and dazed, and he’s so perfect, Chris thinks, no one else deserves to have him like this, his perfect pet, his sweet, obedient boy. He leans down and sinks his teeth into Sebastian’s neck, high above the collar. He wants them to see, wants them to know. Sebastian is taken. He belongs to Chris.

And Chris is _not_ going to share.

Sebastian cries out, tensing against the bite. For a moment, Chris thinks that this may be too much, that the pain is overstimulating when he’s this far under. He almost pulls away, but then Sebastian releases a helpless whine that sounds so much like _yes_ that Chris clenches his jaw harder, instead. 

The pressure makes Sebastian’s body go abruptly slack again, and for an instant Chris thinks he may have come without permission, but he’s merely giving in, surrendering like an animal in a trap, and Chris feels his pulse thundering in his neck.

The background starts to fade. Nothing else matters. Just now. Just Sebastian. The sounds of his breathing, the taste of his skin, the slide of his muscles under Chris’s hands and teeth. He feels more than hears the soft whimper from Sebastian, and it sinks into Chris’s bones. Sebastian groans at the way Chris’s body sags into him, and Chris’s mind goes hazy with the raw need coursing through him.

It takes Chris over. Control. His whole body is on fire and Sebastian is everything. He’d give up the world to keep him safe. Sebastian is keening in his ear and Chris never wants to hear anything else. He never wants to _be_ anywhere else. This is all he wants, Sebastian curled up hot and shivering beneath him. Just for him. Only him.

“ _Mine,_ ” Chris hisses as he releases Sebastian’s neck, pulling out of him so fast that Sebastian whines. He’s so needy, whimpering and begging for touch, and Chris’s mind is reeling. No one else, Chris thinks possessively, no one else will touch him like this. He jerks himself quickly, and the sound of Sebastian whispering his name brings him over the edge, come streaking over Sebastian’s chest.

Shuddering, Sebastian’s mouth falls open. He looks as if he’s trying to form words, and Chris glances at his hands, balled into fists hanging heavy in the cuffs. He’s beautiful like this. Absolutely gone, anything he does now is only because Chris orders him to. 

As if to prove it to himself, he grabs Sebastian’s chin and hisses, “Come now.”

Instantly, Sebastian sinks impossibly deeper, his body falling like dead weight against the headboard, coming over his own stomach, and Chris’s hands move without his full permission, massaging the mess into his skin. The base instinct of marking territory. As his mind catches up to what he’s doing, he pulls his hand away.

The air is thick, Chris’s body still singing along the edge of carnal relief. He watches Sebastian breathe, completely spent, and a residual spark of pride washes over him. 

“My perfect boy,” he whispers, kissing his neck. “Such a good boy.”

He’s starting to feel the rest of the world slowly reappear around them. It’s somewhat disorienting, remembering where they are. Sebastian’s fantasy had been the last thing to seep into Chris’s mind before everything else had disappeared. Sebastian licks his lips, his tongue dragging heavy and slow out of his mouth before he gains the presence to swallow. 

He doesn’t say anything in response, and after a moment Chris tugs the blindfold open, letting it fall from Sebastian’s face. Sebastian’s eyes are clouded, pupils blown, and he can’t seem to focus on Chris’s face.

“Hey,” Chris says gently, rolling his fingers over Sebastian’s face, “you with me, baby?” 

Sebastian doesn’t answer, and Chris feels a dull thump of panic in his chest. 

“Sebastian?” He grabs for the key, and reaches for Sebastian’s wrists, but Sebastian seems to realize what’s happening an instant before it does and jerks back from him.

“N – no.” Sebastian’s voice is wrecked and quiet, barely louder than a breath. “No, please – I...keep m’like this, please. Promised.”

“Seb – ” Chris’s heart stutters in his chest. He puts the key down on the bedside table and cups Sebastian’s face, the silk of the blindfold bunching against Sebastian’s jaw. “Sebastian,” he whispers, voice rough. “Speak to me, baby, you with me?” 

“Chris,” he says without answering, and Chris’s breath catches, heart pounding in his ears. Sebastian’s staring at him like he’s made out of gold, and Chris doesn’t know if he can handle it. It’s everything he’s wanted. For Sebastian to look at him as if he loves him. He lets himself think for just a moment that it’s true before squashing the feeling down. 

He still hasn’t answered, and Chris wants to ask again, but he can’t tear his eyes away. Sebastian looks made for him, debauched and filthy, open and waiting. It makes Chris a little dizzy. He drops the hand holding the blindfold into his lap and leans forward to kiss him without being fully aware of telling his body to move. His head is still spinning, and he buries his face in Sebastian’s neck for a moment to catch his breath.

When Chris draws back, he watches clarity seep back into Sebastian’s eyes as he blinks them a few times, pulling against the chain before he looks curiously up at Chris. 

“You ready for me to free you now?” Chris asks gently, and Sebastian stares back at him, confused.

Chris’s chest clenches tight. It hasn’t been like this since the first time Sebastian showed up in Boston – back when Chris was so sure he’d crashed. He has to take care of him. Always take care of him. His perfect boy. 

“I tried to unlock you a minute ago and you begged me not to,” he says finally. He swallows hard and cups his face again. Sebastian’s still looking at him as if he’s something worthy of worship, and it’s killing him. 

He could tell Sebastian, here and now. Tell him he loves him, that he foolishly, helplessly has since this started. That from the very first time he cuffed his shoulder and joked for him to wear a tie, all he’s wanted is this, here. Holding him. Keeping him.

He could tell him everything, but it wouldn’t be fair. Sebastian’s still so locked in it’d be a shock if he even understood his words in the first place, let alone could consider his own response. 

“That was…” Chris doesn’t have a word for what that was. He’s never felt anything like that before. “I wasn’t expecting that to get so intense,” he settles on lamely. “I – I got a little…”

Sebastian shivers, and Chris feels a jolt of guilt. 

“I watched your hands, but I’m sorry if I – ” he starts quickly, but then has no idea how to explain himself. He’d never forgive himself if he went overboard, if he hurt or frightened Sebastian in any way. “Are you okay?” 

Sebastian nods, but he barely looks present enough to understand the question. Guilt draws Chris’s eyes to his lap. 

“Are you – ” he starts again, automatically, before realizing he just asked that. He tries again, “Do you want me to get you out?”

Sebastian nods again, subdued and quiet, and Chris is too embarrassed to meet his eyes as he unlocks his wrists. Sebastian lets his arms drop to his sides like they're each made of lead, and Chris watches as he seems to realize only several seconds later that they’re no longer bound above his head.

Tenderly avoiding the raw bands of skin, Chris takes Sebastian’s wrists in his hands and gently massages the beginnings of pins and needles away. 

Sebastian watches mutely for a while, nodding distantly as Chris asks him hesitant questions, until Chris finally braves to ask, “Are you still locked in?”

There’s a pause, and Chris waits, expecting him to nod again, the same slow silent response he’d been getting, but Sebastian swallows hard and works to focus his eyes on Chris’s face. 

“Yeah,” Sebastian says on a shaky breath, and Chris gathers him instantly into his arms. 

Heat is radiating off of Sebastian in waves as he curls close against Chris, and Chris drinks it in, whispering softly into his hair as he feels Sebastian’s breathing slide back into a normal pace. Fingers curl possessively into Chris’s shirt, and Chris covers Sebastian’s hand with his own, squeezing lightly. He wants it to mean something, entertaining briefly the idea that maybe Sebastian loves him, too.

It’s ridiculous and Chris feels guilty for even wishing for it. He had told Sebastian he would be here for him to give him what he needed, and now Chris is just being greedy. He apologizes again for getting carried away, but Sebastian doesn’t really answer, silently shaking his head.

Suddenly, Chris remembers biting him, and hoists Sebastian up into his lap. Sebastian goes easily, still utterly pliant, and Chris tilts Sebastian’s head back. The bruise is red, stretched wide over the pale skin of his neck, just barely hidden under the shadow of his jaw. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, fear ripping a hole in the bottom of his stomach. The last of the afterglow falls away, and Chris feels suddenly cold. “That’s...really high.” He runs his thumb over it again. “And it looks _bad._ ”

He means it apologetically, but Sebastian only smiles. “Good,” he whispers, sounding dreamy and soft, and worry settles on Chris’s shoulders. They need to be more careful than this. If someone sees, Sebastian’s love life is going to be the most frequently asked question of the whole Marvel cast. 

Only Anthony and Scarlett know, and Chris doesn’t for a second think they would tell anyone anything, but reporters can be so insistent on the tiniest details, and the paparazzi don’t know boundaries. Chris apologizes again, trying to hold Sebastian steady, but Sebastian just pouts, covering the bite on his throat with a shaky hand. 

“Want it,” he murmurs, voice faded.

“Sebastian?” Chris asks nervously, tipping Sebastian’s chin to check his eyes. “You sound…” _Christ._ “Are you still locked in?”

Pulling out of his grip, Sebastian falls forward, dragging himself back into Chris’s lap and nuzzling into his jaw. Chris takes a deep breath, wrapping his arms tight around Sebastian’s back before he can stop himself. 

“Stay,” he hears Sebastian mumble against him, avoiding answering his question. “Don’t go. Keep – keep me here.” Chris’s head is spinning at the pleading lilt to his voice. “Just like this.” The words are intoxicating, and Chris feels the air leave his lungs in a rush.

He could, Chris thinks. He could just stay here. Stay another night. Stay two more nights. Three. He tightens his grip on Sebastian and shivers at the feeling of him letting out a warm sigh against his neck. Chris’s heart is going to beat right out of his ribcage. 

“Sebastian, I – ” Stay until people start to ask him what he’s doing out of Boston if he’s not working. Stay until people notice how much he’s attached to Sebastian, marks on his throat and no girls in his life. Stay until interviewers start asking about their relationship, cameras pressed close to his face. Stay until his personal life isn’t his anymore.

“I can’t,” he blurts out finally, and Sebastian lets out a sound like he’s been stabbed. “I have to take care of you,” Chris covers quickly, wrapping him in a blanket as he narrates the idea of getting Sebastian some water, stumbling out of the room before he can have a panic attack.

It’s too much. He wants too much. He thought he could do this, be casual, be unattached. But he should have known he made a mistake when Sebastian showed up in Boston admitting to jumping into bed with other people, and Chris had to bite back the instinct to leave him covered in marks.

Sebastian wants casual, so Chris wants to give him that. Better to have a casual relationship with him than none at all, and Sebastian seems to trust him more than anyone else. Chris had made the mistake of thinking that could be enough, really. For a while it seemed like it was going to be. Trust and love are almost interchangeable. They almost feel the same.

Almost, but now the idea of leaving makes him sick. He wants to stay here, curled around Sebastian in bed until they’re forced to leave for work. Sebastian’s still locked in enough to want it, and Chris feels a queasy sort of guilt twist his stomach at the thought of taking advantage of that, of keeping him just like this...the words had fallen out of Chris’s mouth before he could stop himself, but Sebastian only seemed to want them just as much.

Because he’s too locked in to feel any different, Chris reminds himself. His hands are shaking. He can’t do this right now. Sebastian needs him. Aftercare. He needs to handle aftercare. Even the idea seems to steady him enough and he runs into the bathroom, rifling through Sebastian’s medicine cabinet until he finds a tube of antiseptic. He bolts into the kitchen to fill a glass of water before returning to Sebastian’s side.

Sebastian looks less bleary than before, but still decidedly lost enough that Chris tries to be extra affectionate, kissing Sebastian’s raw skin and holding him tight in his lap. The words are on the tip of his tongue as he rocks Sebastian gently against his chest, feeling Sebastian’s muscles shift as he slowly begins to fit back into his own body.

He waits a while before asking Sebastian again about the bite on his neck, growing frustrated when Sebastian only seems to like it there. He’s tried so hard to be careful, and now he’s fucked it up and ruined it for both of them. Someone is going to find out, and when they do, they’re both in trouble. 

“You can’t hide this easily at all,” Chris tries to explain, but Sebastian only cuts him off.

“I would’ve stopped you, Chris,” he grumbles petulantly. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

As much as Chris wants to continue arguing how that isn’t the point, it’s relieving to hear, knowing Sebastian isn’t doing this for Chris, knowing this is still about what Sebastian wants. Chris has gotten so much more than he’s expected lately, he was starting to worry that somehow it wasn’t about Sebastian anymore.

Chris doesn’t realize he’s massaging gently at the bruise on Sebastian’s neck until he hears Sebastian’s voice timidly call his name. “That’s – it’s...not helping me stay – ”

“Oh,” Chris says quickly, pulling his hand away and apologizing before Sebastian’s words fully register. As the meaning of what he’d said sinks in, Chris feels a thrill shoot through him like a drug. “Really?” he asks softly, watching Sebastian melt under the touch as he does it again. “Just this?”

Sebastian nods, and Chris feels a low growl hover deep in his chest. 

“You really _are_ mine, aren’t you?” Chris asks, but it’s more than that. He knows it even as he says it. 

He could keep him like this, naked and waiting in Chris’s own apartment, collar latched around his throat. Maybe Chris could get him matching cuffs for his wrists and ankles, ready to be locked together – locked onto some other surface – ready and open for Chris to use as he sees fit. His perfect, beautiful pet. 

He’d never have to be anywhere else. Never have to see anyone else. Just for Chris.

“Yes,” Sebastian answers fervently, his voice cutting through the fog in Chris’s head making his thoughts sound logical. For an instant, Chris thinks he’s been speaking aloud this whole time, and his eyes widen at Sebastian’s easy compliance. “Al – always.”

Watching Sebastian’s face as he falls into subspace always draws Chris in deep, the way his eyes turn glassy and his jaw goes slack, never blinking away from Chris, like he’s waiting for more orders. He’s so exceptional like this, if Chris just stayed _one more night_...what could happen in just one night?

Anxiety curls around his thoughts, answering his question for him with things he _knows_ are out of proportion, but he can’t shake them from his mind. He’s so close to ruining this already, he can barely help himself as it is, and it’s going to tear Sebastian apart. He pulls Sebastian back up from the bed, stumbling over helpless apologies and excuses.

“I can’t stay,” he manages finally, barely. “I...shit, I’m sorry.”

Sebastian looks heartbroken, eyes cast down at his lap, and Chris realizes with a pang that he’s about to cry. 

“It’s fine,” he says gamely, and Chris doesn’t deserve that kind of forgiveness. Not for what he’s doing. Sebastian is far too good for him.

Panicked at the thought of Sebastian crying, Chris pulls him into his lap, kissing gently down his neck, whispering praise softly against his skin. This isn’t Sebastian’s fault. Chris needs him to know that. 

“You’re so good,” he tells him again and again. “You’ve been so good for me.” 

Sebastian melts against him as Chris’s lips slide over the bite on his neck. The thought to bite back down is lodged suddenly in his head, and he _wants_ to, listening to the catch in Sebastian’s breath as if he wants it, too.

His head is reeling, and all he wants is to tell him. For a moment, he thinks it would be safe to do it, he could just tell him, and Sebastian might let him. Might think it’s okay. Might even love him back. 

“Sebastian, I...” He runs fingers over the bruise on Sebastian’s throat, and Sebastian bears it, just slightly, but enough that Chris pulls his hand away.

Sebastian _does_ want him to bite down again. And Chris wants to. He _could_. He could bite down hard enough that it would scar. It could be something make-up would eventually forget to cover, something people would eventually learn as a faint but recognizable feature in Sebastian’s roles. Something Chris gave him.

Nobody would have to know Chris gave it to him. Nobody would have to know the story behind it.

“Chris?” Sebastian asks, voice breathless, snapping Chris from his train of thought. “Are _you_ still locked in?”

He hadn’t prepared for that. “I – ” he starts helplessly, and thinks for a moment that maybe Sebastian’s right. He has to be, because the drive to tell Sebastian he loves him suddenly doesn’t seem stupid or frightening. 

“I want you,” he starts, and his voice feels too tight in his throat.

Nothing seems big enough to finish his sentence, he realizes as he grabs Sebastian’s wrist. Chris wants Sebastian in every way imaginable. Chris wants him to stay like this, he wants him to be his. He wants him to know that this whole time, everything has been for Sebastian, because Chris loves him. He loves him enough that it’s absolutely terrifying.

“Want me to what?” Sebastian asks before Chris can say anything, sounding eager and needy, and Chris feels abruptly thrown.

And there it is. Chris told himself again and again that he wouldn’t, but for just a moment he let himself forget that that’s all this is for Sebastian. All Sebastian needs and wants from him is the aspect of control. There’s no love tied to this for him, and Sebastian is so trusting and safe that he’d never even think that Chris would want anything more than what Sebastian is willing to give. 

Chris’s heart feels as if it’s shattering behind his ribs. “Fuck,” he whispers, desperate to keep a steady hold on his voice. “I should go.” His chest is suddenly heaving, the creeping stranglehold of panic, and he pushes Sebastian off of him before he can notice. 

Frantic, Chris kisses his cheek, trying to settle that none of this is his fault, but Sebastian looks as if he’s just been kicked. It’s horrible, what Chris is doing, and he can’t bear to look at Sebastian. He feels sick to his stomach.

As Chris stomps into his socks and shoes, Sebastian gets to his feet, tripping into his boxers and following him stumbling into the living room. 

“It’s still early!” Sebastian shouts after him, tears evident in his voice, and Chris feels like a monster. 

He still doesn’t look at Sebastian when he sputters excuses, reaching for the door when Sebastian cuts him off, grabbing his arm. 

“You can just stay,” he says desperately. “I’ll take you to the station tomorrow, just stay. One more night, please.” 

And Chris is dying to say yes. Sebastian’s looking at him as if he’s considering getting on his knees and begging to keep him there, and Chris shouldn’t leave him like this. He’s still fragile, now. It doesn’t matter what Chris says, it’s going to feel like rejection. Like he doesn’t matter.

That’s worse, isn’t it? Telling Sebastian he loves him might be too much, but letting him feel rejected, he can’t do that, can he? He doesn’t want to. He wants to stay. He glances at the door and back at Sebastian. God, he wants to stay.

But since the tour ended it’s only gotten harder to reason with himself why. Of course he wants to stay, but he can’t. He’s not working, and when Chris isn’t working, he’s never been very public. Being in New York for no reason will raise questions. He knows his own answers to the questions, but if they ask Sebastian –

_“We’re allowed to be friends, aren’t we?”_

They are, and that’s all. Because that’s what Sebastian wants. But it’s gotten too hard to tamp it down anymore. He can feel the words buzzing on his tongue every minute, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend they aren’t there.

And he _can’t._ If he stays, if he says anything, he’ll only make it worse. Overloading Sebastian by telling him how he feels would be just as bad as leaving, now. It would. But unlike some half-cocked love confession, Sebastian has forgiven him for things like this before. At least if he leaves now, Sebastian can still forgive him later. 

Hopefully.

Sebastian already looks like a scolded puppy, offering to take him to the station now, a last ditch effort to stay near him just a little longer, and Chris wants nothing more than to let him. But when Sebastian moves to get dressed, Chris takes hold of his arm, stopping him. That damn bruise on his neck – if they’re seen together while Sebastian’s freshly marked like that everyone will come to the same conclusion.

It isn’t reason enough for Sebastian, and when Chris leans in to kiss him, he pulls back to see tears in his eyes. 

“Call me,” Chris says pointedly, trying to keep the strain out of his own voice. “Anytime you need me.”

“Bullshit.”

Chris feels as if he’s been struck. “Sebastian...” he starts, feeling helpless, but Sebastian won’t look at him, tears rolling down his face, and Chris raises his hand with the instinct to wipe them away.

“Just go,” Sebastian snaps at him, and Chris’s hand freezes between them, hanging awkward and stiff a few inches from Sebastian. Sebastian’s face twists into a snarl and he shouts, “ _Leave!_ ”

There’s such finality in his voice that Chris feels abruptly ill. He wants to apologize. He wants to take it back and stay, stay however long Sebastian wants him to. He’d thought this was the right choice, but now he feels like he’s ruined everything. 

“Um...” he looks around, wanting some excuse to change his mind and stay, but Sebastian no longer wants him here. “Okay.”

He shuts the door on Sebastian’s icy glare, and barely makes it down the block before he has to lean against the wall of a building for support, his lungs feeling as if they’re shredding as his heart goes rapid against his ribs. He shuts his eyes against the tunnel vision and tries to stabilize his breathing enough to stand.

By the time he makes it to the train station, he feels numb. He texts Sebastian several times, sitting crouched in on himself to avoid being recognized. His hands shake and his phone screen blurs, and Sebastian never responds to a single text.


	2. Chapter 2

When he can, Chris tries calling. Crammed tight in the single bathroom stall of the Boston train station for a modicum of privacy, he drums his fingers against the door and listens to the dial tone buzz back at him. Sebastian doesn’t pick up, and what he manages to ramble out into a message doesn’t bode well for a response, either.

He takes a taxi to his mother’s place, and she’s at the front door before he even reaches the porch. At first, she’s grinning, but the moment she takes in Chris’s appearance, she runs to meet him in the middle of the walkway.

Before she can ask, Chris manages, jaw clenched hard over a sob, “I fucked up, Ma.” 

She takes his bag from him understandingly, shouldering it and reaching up to guide him in the house with a hand on his back, but he breaks down, collapsing to sit on the porch steps, his head in his hands. 

With a sigh, his mother sits down next to him, letting him cry for a moment before touching his shoulder. “Do you want me to get your father or your brother?” Chris shakes his head, and Lisa gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” Chris shakes his head again, feeling pitiful, but his mother just smiles and scoots closer to him on the steps.

Chris notices his mother shivering before he realizes he is, too. The sun is starting to set and it’s getting too cold to sit outside like this. 

Lisa rubs gently at his arm, trying to warm him up before offering, “Wanna come inside, sweetie?” Chris stares at the porch steps under his shoes. “Scott’ll be happy to see you.” Nodding, Chris gets to his feet, and Lisa takes his bag before he can, leading the way into the house.

Scott bounds up to hug him when he sees him, not realizing something is wrong until Chris doesn’t let go right away. “Hey, what’s up?” he asks nervously as he forces out of the hug. Taking in Chris’s face, he adds, “Jesus, you look like hell.”

Lisa gives Scott a scornful smack on the elbow, but Chris laughs, the wet, borderline hysterical laugh of someone who’s cried far too hard far too recently. 

“Feel like it, too,” Chris adds, dragging his palm over his face. Scott gives him a sympathetic pat on the back.

“Is this about that whole _casual_ thing you started up with Sebastian?” Scott asks knowingly, and Chris feels as if his throat is closing up. He doesn’t say anything, but Scott doesn’t need him to. “Yeah, I was afraid of that.”

“Am I that obvious?” Chris asks miserably. Lisa nods, a bit of a sad little smile on her face, and Scott pats his face lovingly.

“You don’t do casual, big brother. Never have.” Chris chews silently on his lip, and Scott sighs. “All right, so what’s the damage, then?” Chris opens his mouth to answer before glancing over at his mother’s expectant face.

She smiles warmly at him. She doesn’t know everything, no details, but she knows enough. She knows that Chris talks more about Sebastian than he has anyone he’s dated in years. She knows he wants her to meet him, to bring him home on the next holiday dinner, which he hasn’t done in almost a decade. She knows he keeps insisting that what they have is causal, that really they’re just friends, and the way his voice catches every time he does. 

“So, you love him, huh?” she asks, barely a question; she already knows the answer.

Chris takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he says weakly, and Scott claps his hands together.

“Oh boy. We need beer,” he announces loudly, and Chris laughs again, mopey and quiet. “Sit your ass in a chair and stay awhile,” he adds, shoving pointedly at Chris’s shoulder. Chris lets himself crash into the chair with a mildly irritated huff, and Lisa sits down next to him, sliding her hand across the table to wrap around Chris’s.

“Have you told him anything?” she asks gently, and Chris feels as if he’s going to vomit. 

“God,” he says breathlessly, “God, no. I didn’t – I couldn’t – ”

“So for all you know,” Scott says as he reappears from the kitchen, taking a long pull of his own beer from one hand and placing two other open bottles on the table, “he could be in love with you, too, and you’re just an idiot.”

“Scott!” Lisa snaps, but Scott just shrugs and sips his beer again.

“He doesn’t love me,” Chris says quietly, looking at his lap. “Not – he doesn’t think of me like that.”

“Not to go two-against-one here, Chris, honey,” Lisa prefaces with gentle ease, “but if you haven’t told him, then how do you know that?”

Chris shakes his head. “He’s not – like that,” he says awkwardly. “Sebastian doesn’t really...” he trails off, and the memory springs to mind of having Sebastian on his back. _“God, you were quite the little slut.”_ Cringing guiltily, Chris tries to think of anything else. He shrugs. “He doesn’t, uh. He doesn’t really do relationships, often.”

Lisa frowns, and she looks so disapproving Chris thinks for a wild moment that she can hear the memory still rattling around in his head. He chews nervously at his lip and shrugs again. “I don’t mean like it’s a bad thing. He just...he doesn’t date much. I don’t think he...does the boyfriend thing.” 

At the silence that follows, Chris picks his beer up off the table and takes a long drink. He wants to talk, but he doesn’t want anyone to think badly of Sebastian just because Chris is sappier than he is, and he certainly can’t go into the details of what they’ve been doing. Lisa frowns as she watches him, and Chris is afraid of what she could possibly want to say, so he asks abruptly, “Where’s Dad?”

“Asleep,” Lisa says softly. “You know your father. It’s after ten.” Chris chuckles, and Lisa pats his knee. “I think we should _all_ get to bed,” she says sweetly. “Tackle this whole thing in the morning.” Chris nods, grabbing his beer as he gets to his feet.

He kisses his mother and his brother goodnight and wanders into his childhood bedroom. He’s only there for a few minutes, sipping his beer, halfheartedly unpacking before he sits on his bed and pulls his phone out to text Sebastian a last time. _I have no idea if you’re still awake but I’ve made it home, so I’m going to bed now. I’m so sorry. Please talk to me tomorrow._ He frowns and adds, _If you feel like you can._

As he hits send, he hears his bedroom door open, and his head jerks up. For a half-aware split second, his mind supplies Sebastian, until Scott turns on the light. 

“Thought you were going to bed?” Chris asks, glancing at his phone for probably the hundredth time before setting it down on his bedside table.

“You, too,” Scott says with a smirk. He still has his beer in his hand, and takes a sip of it as he sits down on Chris’s bed. “I know eleven o'clock is lights out, but I figured you still had some shit to get off your chest.”

Chris drops his head against the wall and sighs. 

When he doesn’t say anything, Scott pushes, “So, you love him.” 

Chris grunts, feeling foolish admitting it out loud anymore tonight, and Scott rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, well, you haven’t used the L-word since Jessica, so as much as you want to blow this off, it’s got ‘Big Deal’ stamped all over it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chris answers, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “I fucking ruined it. Just like I knew I would. Just like every other fucking time.”

“Oh my God,” Scott grumbles, dragging his hand over his face. “You are so fucking dramatic. Would you calm down?” Chris glares at him, but Scott doesn’t back down. “What’d you do? Burn his house down? Kill his mother? How did you even ruin anything?”

“I left,” Chris says flatly, and he can feel his throat constricting as he speaks. Scott’s only going to tease him if he cries. “I left and I shouldn’t have left. He didn’t want me to – I fucking ruined it.”

Scott frowns and takes another sip of beer. “Care to elaborate, or are we gonna speak vague all night? You’re not exactly fluent in it, Chris.”

“I’m...” Chris takes a nervous sip of beer. “He was...he was feeling vulnerable and I left him alone.” He keeps his head bowed when he feels his eyes start to sting, and Scott tilts his head.

Taking another long sip of beer, Scott asks, “Vulnerable how? Did his mom actually die on your watch, ‘cause then, yeah, I’ll agree that’s probably fucked up of you to leave.”

Embarrassed, Chris doesn’t answer. He picks awkwardly at the beer label again and doesn’t look at Scott. He’d rather his brother just assume the worst than to come out and say what he and Sebastian have been doing all this time.

“Dude, what the hell did you _do_ to this kid?”

“Don’t call him ‘kid’,” Chris says with a smirk, thankful for the distracting change in subject. “He’s older than you.”

“Barely,” Scott responds far too quickly, as if he’s looked up Sebastian’s age in the past few days. He points his bottle at Chris, getting a lewd little smile on his face, and Chris tips his own bottle into his mouth to have something to do. “You’ve always liked playing daddy.”

Chris chokes, sputtering beer all down his shirt. Whatever Scott was expecting from making that joke, Chris’s wheezing spit-take and sudden full-body blush isn’t it. He stares blankly for a minute before a startled laugh bursts out of him.

“Oh my God. Oh my _God_.”

“Scott – ” Chris feels as if he’s going to burst into flame.

“It’s _that_ kind of casual. Oh my God. No wonder you’re so awkward and weird talking about this. With _Ma_. Oh my _God_ I should’ve known, usually you’re all about your feelings the minute we ask you anything. I can’t believe – ”

“ _Scott..._ ” Chris covers his face, but Scott is practically jumping up and down on the bed now.

“So are you two like, doing like what you did with Lacey? She was fucking wild, bro.”

Chris feels the blood drain from his face. “How – how’d you find out about Lacey?”

Scott laughs, and the blood rushes back up Chris’s neck so suddenly he feels like he’s going to faint. “She wasn’t exactly quiet about it. Or during it. Or – ”

“Scott, _Jesus._ ” The look on Chris’s face must be serious enough, because Scott goes somber and doesn’t say anything else. “I hadn’t done it in years, okay? It’s not like I need it to get off or anything, but he’s...”

“Yeah,” Scott says before Chris can finish, “I dunno if it’s supposed to be, but that isn’t exactly a secret.”

Chris frowns. For a brief moment of panic, he thinks Scott means their relationship. “Huh?”

“Even _I_ can tell the guy’s into that kind of shit, and I’m not even into that scene,” Scott says over his beer bottle. “You can always tell. Real quiet and sweet and easy-going around you guys,” he winks and adds, “especially you. Always does what you guys say. But then whenever the press pisses him off, he turns into a little shit.”

Chris smiles fondly and takes a sip from his own beer. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face makes Scott smirk again. 

“Should I be nicer? Seeing has how he’s probably my future brother-in-law?” That makes the smile drop from Chris’s face, and Scott groans. 

“Would you lighten up?” he asks, nudging Chris’s shoulder. “You made a mistake. I dunno if you know this, but you’re a pretty easily forgivable guy. You’re Captain fucking America. No one can stay mad at Captain America. Right?”

“Well, Sebastian doesn’t love me,” Chris insists, the words feeling thick on his tongue. “He just needs me.” He’s quiet for a minute and then adds, “He needs me and I left him. I left him alone and vulnerable in his apartment and now he’s not talking to me. I abandoned him. It _should_ be over.”

“Oh Jesus Christ, would you listen to yourself?” Scott snaps. “You _abandoned_ him? He’s not a five-year-old at the mall, Chris. He’s a grown man. And yeah, okay, he’s mad. I’d be mad too if I got ditched right after sex. But it’s not the end of the world.”

“It’s different,” Chris insists quietly, “it’s – it’s not that easy, with...”

“You can say the words,” Scott says, smirking. “I already know the secret.”

Chris glares at him, but sees his point and continues, “It’s – it’s this...state of mind, I guess, called subspace, okay? All the endorphins and nerves and shit going into hyperdrive.” Scott nods, so Chris goes on, “And it’s – it’s not always...rational. It leaves you kind of...um...” 

In searching for the right word, his mind supplies too many. Pliant. Helpless. Needy. Desperate. What the hell has he done? “...Over-dependent. You said he’s not a five-year-old at the mall, and, yeah, he’s not. But he...feels that way. Sort of. And I left.”

Scott’s face falls. “Ah.”

Anxious, Chris drags a hand over his jeans, realizing belatedly that he’s still wearing them. “I shouldn’t have left him,” he says quietly. “He’s gonna crash, and that can get...bad. It feels almost like the flu or something. Knocks you on your ass. And – fuck, he might not even realize...” 

When they had first started this, Chris had made sure to send Sebastian plenty of literature to read up on, especially things about crashing, so he could tell if he was starting to disassociate or drop. He knows Sebastian read it all because he’d made sure of it at the time, but that was months ago. It’s possible that with everything Sebastian’s feeling right now, he doesn’t even remember.

Besides, he’d probably never prepared to be alone for it, or for it to be entirely Chris’s fault. Chris sure hadn’t. Chris rakes a hand through his hair and Scott sighs loudly enough to jolt Chris out of his thoughts. Chris looks up to see him tipping his beer vertically into his mouth to get the last few drops.

Shaking the bottle to make sure it’s empty, he puts it down on the floor. “Okay,” he says then, smacking his hands pointedly on his knees. “So why did you?”

Chris licks his lips, shaking his own bottle dejectedly. Scott takes it from him and smiles.

“I’ll get us new bottles if you answer me.”

Chris huffs a laugh and nods. “I, uh,” he swallows hard, and picks at the hem of his jeans. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” Chris says quietly, and Scott tisks at him. He doesn’t make any sort of comment, so Chris pushes himself to elaborate. “I can’t do it anymore. Not like this.” 

“You mean like, you don’t wanna do the wild shit anymore, or – ?”

Throwing up his hands to cut him off, Chris shakes his head. “No. _No_ , that’s not what I mean at all.” Scott raises his eyebrows, and Chris blushes, embarrassed. “Shut up. It’s just...it feels like I’m – I’m in too deep to not...” He has no idea how to explain himself without sounding like an idiot. “He’s...we have – ”

 _God,_ Chris thinks to himself, _don’t you dare say ‘a connection’._ Scott is waiting so patiently, and at a loss for any other way to explain it, Chris rolls his eyes and admits, “I can’t pretend there’s a barrier there, you know what I mean? I can’t – I feel like...we’re too close with this, you know? And I want that, I do. But I want to take care of him as a – I want...”

“To be his boyfriend,” Scott supplies helpfully, and Chris puts his head in his hands.

“Neither of us are out publically, and I can’t – I _can’t_ ask him to do that for me. Not when I don’t think he even wants it.” Scott stands up and grabs the beer bottles off the floor.

“All right, I’m gonna be back with a couple more,” he says. “Sit tight.”

The door shuts behind Scott with a soft click. Chris draws his knees up to his chest and drops his head onto them, trying to clear the anxious static of doubt from his mind. He picks up his phone again, but he’d already told Sebastian he was going to bed. He has no idea if Sebastian’s gone to sleep or not, anyway.

There’s the quiet pop of the door reopening, and Scott comes sauntering back in with fresh beers. “Ah-ah, none of that. If you message him too much when he doesn’t want to talk to you, you start to come off a bit too Glenn Close boiling his rabbit.”

“That _hardly applies…_ ” Chris argues grouchily, but Scott hands him a beer and narrows his eyes.

“Put the damn phone down.” Chris does, feeling like a scolded puppy. Scott sits back on the bed. 

“All right,” he says, taking a sip of his new beer. “Now, I know asking this question is always a mistake with you, but if you come clean and tell him how you feel, what’s the absolute worst that could happen?”

Frowning, Chris picks at the fresh label. “He’d feel cornered. Either he’d feel betrayed by our set-up and feel even more abandoned than he does right now when he tells me he can’t do more than casual and I leave, or he – God, he feels like – like he has to say yes to me ‘cause I’m his dom and gets pushed to do shit he doesn’t want to do, like outing himself to shit-eaters like TMZ who’ll turn him into some sort of fucking joke.”

He knows Sebastian’s shy. Probably about as shy as Chris is, and despite what he lets on, much more sensitive. Chris can’t shake the image of TMZ or some other paparazzo pestering him to the point of shame. There has to be a reason Sebastian isn’t open about being bisexual, and Chris would rather die than push him out of his comfort zone.

“I can’t do that to him,” Chris says again, staring at his hands.

Groaning, Scott interrupts him. “Okay, first off, TMZ can be avoided. You did it back you had that fling with what’s-his-name, Billy Elliot.”

“The thing with Jamie barely lasted the length of the shoot. No paps were around to snap pictures or ask questions,” Chris argues with a groan. “And _don’t_ call him Billy Elliot. He fucking hates that.”

A low chuckle. “Call him that in bed one time, or what?”

“Jesus, quit it. We never even had sex.” Scott raises his eyebrows, and Chris sags his shoulders. “He blew me _once_. God, you’re so nosy about my fucking sex life.” He takes a pull of his beer, and Scott laughs.

“Only ‘cause I haven’t been laid in a while and you’re out there living the high life.” Chris makes a face, and Scott smirks at him over his beer. “Was _he_ into anything weird?”

Quickly, defensively, Chris cuts in, “It’s not weird.” Scott pats his knee.

“Sorry. It’s not. You know what I mean.”

A beat of hesitation passes as Chris weighs the harm it can do. “He wanted to roleplay our characters,” he answers blandly.

“Shit, _really?_ ” Scott squeals, looking obscenely gleeful, and Chris laughs.

“No. Don’t be an asshole.” Scott frowns, and Chris smirks at him. “It wasn’t like that with Jamie,” he admits. “It’s...different. With Sebastian. Everything is.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Scott speaks. “Shit, you’ve got it bad,” he says, smirking, propping his head up on his hand. “You’ve got that look on your face that says you’d be willing to get down on one knee for the guy.”

“I do _not,_ ” Chris snaps, his voice too loud and a little overly-scandalized to his own ears.

“Oh, right, I guess it’s both knees with you two,” Scott teases, but then realizes, making a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Or I guess it’s the other way around, huh?”

Chris covers his face with his hands. “I regret letting you know anything at all, ever. I should’ve just gone to bed.”

“Probably,” Scott tells him cheerily, taking another sip of his beer as he leans back on his free hand against the bed. “Not now, though. I still have to get to my second point.”

“Second point?” Chris repeats quizzically.

“On why you’re wrong,” Scott says exasperatedly. “And why you should just suck it up and tell the boy-toy you love him.” Chris balks, but Scott ignores him and soldiers on. “You said he’d feel pressured to say yes because you’re his dom, right?”

Nodding, Chris starts, “He’s just – ”

“Stop, shut up, I’m talking.” Chris sticks out his tongue, feeling suddenly twelve. Scott continues to ignore him. “Now, I’m not in on all the rules here, but I’m not completely incompetent. I’ve been lead to believe that good doms make sure their subs never feel pressured to say yes to anything they don’t want, and that the opposite is a big no-no, am I right?”

“Yeah,” Chris says slowly, “but – ”

“I’m not done, damn it.” Chris goes silent, and Scott smiles. “Okay. Now, I also know _you_ and I know that when you need to prepare for something, you go through hell or highwater to know everything you have to know. How much did you read up on before even approaching Sebastian with this whole thing?”

“Well, I remembered a lot from Lacey,” Chris says self-consciously. He knows he overthinks. That’s why he’s sitting here at home instead of curled up around Sebastian in New York. Scott’s the only one who seems to think it’s a _good_ quality. His answer doesn’t fly well enough. Scott is still looking at him expectantly and Chris sighs. “I spent...most of the shoot – I mean, once I noticed he needed...”

Scott waves his hands, cutting Chris’s words short. “Right, okay, I don’t need details.”

“You certainly didn’t feel that way about Jamie,” Chris teases, letting himself smile, “What, are you gonna get his number out of my phone and see if he’s interested in any other Evanses?”

“Why, you still have his number?” Scott seems to momentarily consider it, and Chris grins. “No, I just don’t want to know any specifics if he’s going to be coming to family dinners for the rest of our foreseeable future,” Scott points out, and Chris feels a combination of excitement and fear twist in his stomach at the words. “Details on Billy Elliot were a safe bet.”

“He _really_ hates that.”

“You shouldn’t have told me. Anyway, you’re still changing the subject. My point is you take shit on for the long haul, bro. You know the rules of this game inside and out, and Sebastian obviously trusts you, so – ”

“That’s the problem,” Chris interrupts. “If he thinks I won’t be able to do this without a relationship – and he...he needs it, and he trusts me, and what if he thinks he can’t get – ” Chris stops, remembering again the first time Sebastian showed up at his apartment. “Oh God, he already thinks that. He’d tried – he doesn’t...”

“Stop, stop, _stop._ ” Chris stops talking, but his mind is reeling. He left Sebastian alone. He left Sebastian alone, and Sebastian isn’t speaking to him, and the last time this happened he showed up at Chris’s apartment so strung out Chris thought he’d caused him to crash. 

“I said stop,” Scott says knowingly, and Chris looks up from his beer. “Look. You prepared left and right for this shit at twenty-one, right?” Chris nods, remembering the way he had to go to a library two cities away out of fear of someone he knew seeing the books he was checking out, photocopying the pages so that he could highlight important things and keep them in a folder under his bed. 

Scott doesn’t know any of that, but he still has a look on his face like he knows exactly what Chris is thinking. “Right, well. My point is, you’ve only gotten more annoyingly thorough in the past decade or so. You might’ve fucked up tonight, but there’s no way you’re anything but good at this.”

“That’s probably the weirdest compliment I’ll ever get from my little brother,” Chris mumbles, taking another sip of his beer.

“Don’t make my reassuring speech weird. I’m trying to help, here.”

“I know,” Chris says, staring at his bottle. “I’m just...”

“Scared,” Scott finishes before Chris can come up with something else. “You’re scared, because you love him, and you’re worried he might not love you back, and that might screw this up, and that would suck, I know.”

“This is helpful,” Chris answers sarcastically.

Scott shoves him teasingly, but his face is serious. “Chris, you’re scared a lot. You were scared to take this role in the first place, remember? But you did it, and you’ve loved it. You said it’s made you a better person and shit.” 

He doesn’t remember putting it quite like that, but Scott has a point. He must be making a face, because Scott nudges his shoulder. “And now it’s found you love. Look at that.” Chris scoffs, his heart clenching.

“I can’t – ” Chris starts, feeling helpless and tired and like he’s gone through this far too many times to still have to go through it anymore. “I can’t ask him to – ”

“You’re not asking him shit,” Scott snaps. “You’re not doing a fucking thing, and right now, _that’s_ what’s killing you. So how much worse is telling him going to be?” Chris can picture the door being slammed in his face, Sebastian changing his number and refusing to speak to him outside of scenes on set, but Scott is glaring at him.

“Telling him you love him isn’t asking anything, Chris. You know better than to think that.” He gets to his feet, and Chris can tell Scott’s done hearing his excuses for the night. “If you’re good to him, he’s not going to feel pressured to do anything.” He takes a final, contemplative sip of his beer and adds, “Honestly, if the guy doesn’t love you back something’s probably wrong with him, anyway. You’re a catch.”

Nothing’s wrong with Sebastian, and Chris knows it, but he’s not going to argue. He lets himself smile and nod, and Scott takes Chris’s beer from him, too. 

“All right. Go to bed. No more moping. Mom’s probably gonna be making pancakes in the morning, so cheer the fuck up.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Chris tells him. His voice is facetious, but he smiles sincerely, and Scott gives him a wink as he shuts the door behind him.

He strips off his shirt and jeans and spends an hour lying in the dark before he sends a final text. _Please call me._ It’s after four in the morning and he’s sure Sebastian has gone to sleep by now, but he hopes that in the morning, Sebastian will feel forgiving enough.

Not that Chris deserves it.


	3. Chapter 3

Sunlight filters in through the window before Chris finally nods off. He’s probably only asleep for less than three hours when Scott knocks on his door. “They’re chocolate chip pancakes. It’s official. Mom likes you best. Come downstairs and gloat about it.”

Chris is exhausted and can barely think of getting out of bed, but grunts, dragging himself into a sitting position as Scott swings his door open. “You didn’t stay up all night texting him, did you?” he asks conspiratorially, and Chris shakes his head.

It doesn’t seem like Scott wants to believe him, so Chris grabs his phone off the bedside table and tosses it to him. 

“Just once,” he admits tiredly, and Scott frowns. He catches the phone but doesn’t look at it, squinting oddly at Chris.

He points vaguely. “What’s that on your shoulder?” Chris glances over, realizing belatedly that he’s still only in his boxers from last night. He can barely see the mark Sebastian left on his clavicle, but he can tell it’s gotten darker since the other night. Embarrassed, he covers it with his hand.

“Nothing,” Chris says quickly, but Scott’s eyebrows have shot up to his hairline.

“Is that a _hickey_? Oh my God.”

Blushing, Chris says, “It’s not a – ”

“You didn’t even like those as a teenager. Hell, I remember coming home with one once when we were kids and you borrowed Carly’s make-up and covered me up.” Grinning, he cocks his head into the memory. “What was it you said?”

“Yours _was_ tacky,” Chris says defensively, getting up to try and take his phone back, but Scott presses it to his chest, his cheery look turning smug. “It was right there for everyone to see.” He tries not to think of the mark he left on Sebastian. “And you were _sixteen_.”

“I can’t tell if you’re scolding me for being too old or too young, at this point,” Scott chuckles, “‘cause...wait, do you leave hickeys on him?”

“It’s not a hickey. Gimme my phone.”

Teasingly, Scott mutters, “Not a very good secret if you’re leaving hickeys on each other, Christopher.”

An instant of real anger flashes through Chris, and he shoves Scott’s chest, hard enough to make the smile drop from Scott’s face, but not hard enough to jostle his balance. “Shut the fuck up.” Scott raises his free hand in surrender, but with his other hand still clutching Chris’s phone to his heart, it looks more like he’s taking an oath. 

“Sorry. That was outta line. I’m sorry.” He glances at the mark on Chris’s shoulder and adds, “Don’t shove, Ma’s roughhousing rule still applies.” Chris feels guilty and childish for getting hostile and takes a step back. He opens his mouth to apologize as well, but Scott’s already moved past it.

“My point,” Scott says, his eyes on Chris’s phone as he taps the screen awake, “is you’ve never been the primal type.” He glances up at Chris, who can feel a blush tingling all the way down his shoulders. 

He vaguely remembers the fog that had settled over his brain the night before. It had been past a feeling of necessity, claiming Sebastian. It was as if the desire had skipped the step of brain telling body, intrinsic muscle memory driving him to make Sebastian his. 

Scott watches his face for a moment before adding, “I’d say it was a special circumstance, but you never did that with Lacey, either. At least not that I saw.”

For some reason it’s embarrassing to admit he didn’t. He shakes his head, and Scott just grunts, a bored little sound at the back of his throat, like he was expecting it. 

“Very telling,” he says with a false sense of surprise. 

Chris doesn’t say anything. He watches Scott roll his thumb over the screen of his phone, presumably to see the list of unanswered texts over the past few hours.

“Jeez,” he says softly, and Chris has a moment of panic thinking he’s scrolled up far enough to see texts from before – things like sexting and daily orders from when they’re apart. Before he can defend himself, Scott looks up at him, looking almost sheepish.

“You, um. You really like this guy.” Chris shrugs, and Scott shakes his head. “No, don’t do that. Have you even said the words to yourself? This is a big deal, Chris. You don’t get this way about...anyone.” Chris’s mouth feels dry as he reaches for his phone. He’s not sure what Scott has read, but he regrets letting him have free range of his phone.

“First it’s giving each other love bites like teenagers...” he starts, then he looks back down at the phone and adds fondly, “and I have never _once_ heard you call anyone you’ve dated ‘baby.’”

“Shit, would you quit it?” Chris snaps, jumping back in Scott’s face to snatch his phone back. He glances down to see the message Scott was reading, and feels the hint of a lump in his throat reading the last message Sebastian sent him before last night.

_im really excited to see you_

What Scott had focused on was only Chris’s response. _I’m excited too, baby. I’ve missed you._ Relatively innocent, but still farther back than Chris would’ve wanted him to see. He marches back to the bedside table and slams it down with a little more force than he means to. 

“I don’t tell you everything.”

“Do too,” Scott answers teasingly. Chris doesn’t look up from his phone, and Scott adds, “Shit, you tell me more than you even tell yourself.” When Chris looks up at that, he looks oddly serious. “You never admitted it out loud. Only mom and I were using the L-word. You just grunted responses like a caveman. You’re genuinely freaked out about how much you like this guy.”

Chris doesn’t have anything to say to that. He looks down at his phone again. He’s right, there’s no point in arguing. 

Leaning casually against the doorframe, Scott gives him a noncommittal shrug. “You had no problem saying you loved Jessica, or anyone you so much as kissed in high school, but you won’t even say the word with Sebastian.” He taps his chin with an exaggerated _hmm_. “ _Verrry_ telling,” he repeats, rolling his r for emphasis.

“Thanks,” Chris grumbles at him, but Scott only shrugs again, a look on his face like Chris is only strengthening his point. He is, Chris knows he is. He can’t say it with Sebastian because if he says it once, even just to himself, he can’t promise it won’t slip out of his mouth next time they’re together, Sebastian sunk in deep underneath him and too out of it to have his own response.

Just glassy eyes staring back at him. _“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”_

It wouldn’t be fair to do that to him, to take advantage of his subspace. He knows Sebastian is all right with Chris owning him, they’ve discussed it at length, listing it several different ways. Ownership is one thing, but throwing love into a relationship is a whole different level of responsibility. One they haven’t discussed. One Sebastian never agreed to.

When this whole thing started, Sebastian had asked him, _“What does this make us?”_ He’d sounded so anxious, and Chris knew then that he’d have to let Sebastian be the one to define them. The one control that Sebastian would need entirely and indisputably.

Scott’s voice cuts through his train of thought. “C’mon downstairs, or Ma’s gonna come get us herself.” He turns and calls over his shoulder, “But for her sake, put on a shirt first.”

The table’s already set when they make it down, large stacks of pancakes piled onto each plate. Lisa shuffles over to give them each a kiss, wrapping Chris in a hug before ushering them both to sit. Scott starts eating immediately, but Chris’s stomach grumbles, irritated. He cuts several bites and shoves them around his plate. 

Not looking up from her own pancakes, Lisa snaps, “Eat, Chris,” several times until he finally does. Time passes in silence for a few minutes, but Scott keeps eyeing him too blatantly for Lisa not to notice. “What did you boys talk about after not going to bed last night?” she finally asks, and Chris is too quick to answer before Scott does.

“Nothing.” 

Scott, his mouth open to speak only a split second after the word leaves Chris’s mouth, pretends he only meant to shove a bite of pancake in his face. Lisa raises her eyebrows.

“Your brother doesn’t seem to think it’s nothing,” she says, and Chris shoots Scott a glare. “Is it about Sebastian?”

“No,” Chris says in perfect time with Scott mumbling through a mouthful of pancake, “Yes.” 

Chris frowns, Lisa giggles.

“Is it good things?” she asks sweetly, cutting off a bite of pancake and popping it into her mouth. She doesn’t look at Chris, instead turning to Scott, fully aware of which of them is willing to talk.

For one horrifying moment, Chris is worried Scott may reveal the love bite on his shoulder, but instead he just says, “He hasn’t admitted it, yet.” Chris rolls his eyes, but Lisa seems to find this just as important as Scott, turning to Chris with a frown.

“I have, too,” he says bitingly, but Lisa just scowls at him. “It’s not like my saying it all in the same sentence is going to change anything,” Chris adds. “I can’t. I – it’s not important. It’s not like it’s a fucking secret. You know how I feel, right?”

“Iohno, Chris,” Scott says lightly, “do _you_ know?” 

Chris shouldn’t get angry with him. He’s only trying to lighten the mood. But he’s heard it in his head like a broken record and saying it out loud will only make it harder not to say later. He has to be able to pretend it’s not true. 

If Sebastian ever forgives him for running out, Chris has to be better at being casual, and that’s not going to happen if he lets himself admit that he’s anything but. He can do this. He can be casual. He has to be if he wants to see Sebastian again.

“Yeah,” Chris says finally, not looking up from his plate. Tension settles over the table when he doesn’t make any move to elaborate, and Scott’s smile falls. He feels guilty for bringing down the mood and mutters, “Sorry.”

Silverware clinks awkwardly. “You don’t have to apologize, dear,” Lisa tells him sweetly. “Just eat up. Lord knows what you’ve been living off these days with all the work you’re doing.”

He’s grateful for not having to talk about Sebastian anymore, but the heavy air around the table doesn’t lift. When Chris is finished eating, his mother’s quick to snatch the dishes from the table and disappear into the kitchen, leaving him and Scott alone at the table.

Scott looks like he wants to say something, most likely continue to press Chris into admitting his own feelings, but there’s an obvious shame on his face, and he doesn’t try to speak. After a while, he gets to his feet, ruffling Chris’s hair as he walks past him into his room. It feels oddly like when they were kids, when Scott was stuck taking the blame for something Chris had done.

Too anxious to sit still, Chris goes into the kitchen to help his mother with the dishes in silence.

It’s after noon and the strain hasn’t lessened at all. Giving up on the idea of trying to get Chris to talk, his mother uses the excuse that she needs to get some grocery shopping done. Scott hasn’t said a word to him since he left the kitchen, but Chris can hear him on the phone with a friend downstairs. His dad shouldn’t be home until six. He’s essentially got the house to himself.

Even so, he’s checked the lock on his door at least three times. He knows they’re all intentionally leaving him alone, now. It’s been kind of an awkward day for all of them and Chris guesses they think it’s best to wait for him to come around, especially after he made breakfast so uncomfortable.

If Chris is honest with himself, he just wants to sleep. He’s utterly exhausted after the night he had, but he’s wound up so tight he can’t even sit still. He just wishes Sebastian would call. Text him, anything. Even just to tell him to fuck off, Chris just wants to know if he’s okay. Pacing around in his room, he finally lets himself call Sebastian’s phone again.

The call goes to voicemail. Sebastian’s voice is calm and slightly awkward, telling him to leave a message, and Chris panics.

When the tone goes off, he launches straight into a nervous ramble. “I just need to know you’re okay. I hope – I hope we’re okay, too. I’d understand if we...weren’t.”

He’d understand it. He’s thought about it countless times by now, but that doesn’t mean he’s prepared for it. He runs his hand through his hair and tries to keep calm enough to finish talking. 

“Um. I hope we can...” The thought of their working relationship dawns on him only as the words are about to leave his mouth. “Oh God. I hope you can still work with me. I hadn’t thought...”

His voice cracks, and he can’t breathe. The room spins for a second. He falls back onto his bed and takes a quick breath. Stay calm. Panic after. 

“Shit, okay. I – I’m just calling to check on... You seemed so upset I just need to know you’re okay. I’m so sorry. Please talk to me. I – I can come back up to see you, if you want, or...” 

God, maybe even if he doesn’t want. If Chris doesn’t get any sort of answer he might do something stupid and irrational and just end up at Sebastian’s door. He finishes, “I just hope you’re okay.” 

It’s only a few seconds after he hangs up that a text message window pops up. Sebastian’s name is bolded above the words: _i dont want to talk to you_

It’s strange, how relieved Chris feels to get a text telling him to leave Sebastian alone. Devastation and gratitude roll together in his stomach and he somehow finds it calming enough to relax. Chris sits slumped on the foot of his bed and tries not to think about it. Sebastian’s angry, but at least he’s okay. As long as he’s okay, there’s always time to be forgiven.

Sebastian can be mad, but there’s a comforting lack of finality to it this time, somehow. Maybe this _will_ blow over. Maybe he’ll still belong to Chris in the end. Chris feels an odd little shiver down his spine as the thought goes through his head. In all of this, he’d forgotten what it felt like to consider Sebastian his.

He misses it, the feeling of Sebastian underneath him, the sounds of him begging. Especially after how far they went last night, it’s almost disorienting not to have Sebastian here. Chris remembers Sebastian asking him if he was still locked in, and the way he feels now, it almost seems like his own version of a crash.

He doesn’t really remember hearing that could happen. Then again, he’d never really focused on information about doms. He didn’t figure he’d need it.

It had been an ache all through his body before Sebastian texted him. He’d been fixated on yesterday, playing the events over and over in his head like a broken record. _Why did he do that? Why didn’t he do this? What if he had just waited a little longer?_ The image of Sebastian’s wounded shock making every other thought an irrational fear of what could happen now that he’s not there.

It’s still work to think of something else. But now it’s more like a concentrated migraine. Painful, but not unbearable. He leans back on the bed and tries to think past now, past Sebastian’s anger. He tries to keep his mind on forgiveness, but it still feels too impossible to picture. All he can remember is everything that happened yesterday, throwing Sebastian off of him while running for the door.

Cringing, he tries to focus on before, holding Sebastian close and kissing his neck. He remembers the way Sebastian looked with his hands cuffed above his head, stretched naked underneath him. Black silk over his eyes and the collar on his throat, whimpering and desperate and absolutely, entirely _his._

He can almost hear Sebastian’s voice, if he concentrates, the quiet, steady stream of pleas falling from his mouth. He remembers his own voice, gravelly and muffled against Sebastian’s jaw. _“I’m the one holding the_ leash _.”_

Sebastian had begged him, over and over, _begged_ Chris to claim him. It was no excuse, not really. Not when Chris had been able to ignore when he’d ask for it before, but Sebastian had never looked like that, felt like that, _sounded_ like that. Chris had never heard him speak Romanian before yesterday, the way he pleaded was nothing like anything they’d done before.

It had felt almost like a level of trust they hadn’t crossed before then, Sebastian has always been shy about an accent Chris doesn’t hear; awkward about languages he knows but refuses to speak in public. But he hadn’t been shy then, and Chris has a hard time knowing if it’s the fact that Sebastian was speaking Romanian or if it was knowing Chris was one of the few people to hear it in the past twenty years that made it such a precious sound.

He hadn’t given thought to it before, but now he’s stuck wondering – stomach twisting in nervous excitement – if he’ll ever hear it again. He wants to, quiet and private and just for him. Whispered in dark corners when they’re by themselves. _“Da, domnule.”_

It’s possible, Chris thinks. Maybe. Things may have ended in a hectic whirlwind, but everything about last night had been different. _Sebastian_ had been different. As terrifying as it is to admit it, so had Chris.

Everything had been so _much_. Chris has never felt anything like that before. Sebastian had seemed so frail and vulnerable underneath him. Nothing else had mattered but Sebastian. He belonged to Chris, he _existed_ for Chris. And Chris had only existed for him. To protect him. Keep him safe. Nothing else.

Chris had worried that the fantasy would be too much, that it would seem too ridiculous for either of them. But Sebastian’s reaction had been so instantaneous, as if he could see things as he spoke them aloud. It was enthralling for Chris, to feed the image Sebastian was sketching in his head.

Sebastian has always been pliable, it was part of what had made it so obvious to Chris that he’d needed a dom, but he’d seemed particularly susceptible in that moment, deep enough that anything Chris had said would’ve gone directly to his head.

It gives Chris an odd sense of both control and trepidation. Thoughts had spilled from his mouth then – _I could keep you here, just like this_ – and Sebastian had nodded, keening and desperate, begging for it while curling up in Chris’s lap, still so locked in his words came out drunk and slurred. 

The air shifts and Chris’s breath catches. He lets himself focus on the way Sebastian had whimpered, squirming underneath him and begging, over and over, _“Please, sir, please let me come, I need it, please, want them to – to see you make me come...”_ His hand strokes at the front of his pants before he consciously realizes he’s hard. 

For some reason, it feels dark, dirty, in a way it hadn’t before. But Sebastian’s breathing is still echoing in Chris’s head, and he just wants to remember how good it had been before he fucked it up. The way Sebastian melted into the bed, answering Chris back with words that ran together, hushed and breathless and needy. 

Shuffling out of his jeans and wrapping a hand around his cock, he allows himself to blur the lines, tying in the way Sebastian had crawled to his side and dropped the leash from his mouth to kiss Chris’s feet, and lets the scene play further than it had gone, taking Sebastian’s chin in his hand and whispering, “I’ll keep you here, is that what you want? Just keep you at my feet to warm my cock.”

It shouldn’t be where his mind is going. This shouldn’t be happening. It’s disgusting if he thinks about it. Sebastian is probably crashing hard alone in his apartment and all Chris lets himself focus on is the way he looked so pretty on his knees, the way the cuffs brought him so deep under he could hardly speak.

It’s awful. He shouldn’t want this. He _doesn’t_ want this. But it had been so much, he just wants to let himself forget how it ended. Just for a moment. He closes his eyes and concentrates on what he can remember. The rattle of the handcuffs hitting the woodwork of the headboard. The soft little noises Sebastian couldn’t keep to himself. Repeating over and over, _“Claim me, claim me, claim me...”_ until it wasn’t even English anymore.

And _Christ,_ that had been beautiful. Sebastian’s never been that at ease, never trusted him that much. Chris doesn’t think Sebastian even meant to do it the first time, voice faded, his face bewildered even as the words left his mouth. 

It had been so unexpected that Chris couldn’t hide how taken aback he’d been, collecting himself for a moment, but Sebastian never broke eye contact, pupils blown and glassy. Waiting for his next order. Sebastian had never looked as far under as he did then, watching realization dawn on Chris as the words were still ringing in his head. _“Da, domnule.”_

He feels sweat prickling at the back of his neck, guilty and sick with himself but so fucking needy. He just wants it back, just for a minute. He closes his eyes as he starts to stroke himself, trying to fall back into the memory.

_“Yes, only you, always you. Show – show them, please.”_

Only Chris’s, always. No one else. Chris wishes he could’ve done it, claimed Sebastian on set in front of everyone, shoved him down on his knees and fucked him raw for everyone to see. No one would touch him, then. Filming days would start with everyone asking for Chris’s permission to touch his perfect little pet.

The idea makes him whimper, in total control of everything Sebastian did, everything he said, everyone he talked to. He falls back against his pillow and works his hand a little faster. It’s terrible of him to think this way after last night but just this, just now. Nobody has to know. 

He just wants Sebastian to be his again, just for a second. Nothing else has to matter. Just Sebastian. Just his good boy. Bowing at his feet and kissing his shoes, sucking his cock with his hands held behind his back. His mouth tight and warm, moaning shamelessly as Chris fucks down his throat while the lights beat down on them, cameras rolling, everyone watching.

_“They’re all watching you, Sebastian,”_ Chris remembers vaguely, the way Sebastian shuddered as he spoke. _“Don’t disappoint them. Give them what they’re here to see.”_ His hand moves faster, the firm, lazy drag from tip to base speeding up and losing rhythm. He’d be such a good boy, moaning for the audience, letting Chris tangle his fingers in his hair and maneuver him until he was exactly where he needed to be – until he was perfect.

_Always perfect,_ Chris thinks to himself, _always so good._ His skin is hot and his heart is pounding. He can almost picture Sebastian crouched on his knees, looking up at him, begging for Chris to grab his hair and thrust. He’s so close he feels tears stinging at his eyes.

_“Let them watch you claim me.”_ He would let them all watch, if he could. Keep Sebastian on his leash each morning walking onto set, making him heel on all fours like a good boy and sit outside Chris’s trailer as Chris got ready for filming.

“Fuck – ” 

Sebastian had told him once that was what he wanted, to be dragged around outside like a dog while Chris held onto the leash. Chris imagines letting Sebastian into his trailer to suck him off during smoke breaks, curling up at his feet like a good pet once he’s finished.

Chris feels his face turn red at the thought of hoisting Sebastian up from the floor, into his lap, telling him over and over what a good boy he is, Chris’s sweet, perfect boy. Watching Sebastian glow as Chris rambles on about how beautiful he is, how obedient he is, how much Chris loves him.

Shame burns at his skin as Chris comes in his hand. He hasn’t even stood for the bathroom before guilt settles on his shoulders. Sick. Manipulative. Wrong. What is he thinking? Sebastian’s crashing two-hundred miles away and Chris is too busy getting off on a false reality with him to care. He’s disgusting.

Sebastian is never going to forgive him. Good. He shouldn’t. Chris shouldn’t even get to work with him again after this. He knows his contract is running down. Hopefully they can hold it together for the last couple films and then Chris can do the right thing and never see him again. He gets up to wash his hands.

The house is empty when he leaves his room. Chris assumes Scott must’ve gone to meet his friends somewhere, and he’s a little relieved he has no one to run into. He can’t sleep now, wired by nervous, guilty energy. He hears the dishwasher _ping_ to let the house know it’s finished its cycle, and Chris moves on autopilot to empty it.

Emptying the dishwasher becomes sweeping the kitchen becomes mopping. He’s cleaning the living room when his mother comes through the front door. She smiles at him, her arms full of groceries, and mutters, “Oh, honey, you don’t have to do that.” Chris ignores her and starts dusting. He just has to keep his focus on something else. The less he thinks about it the better.


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the day goes by in a sort of haze. His father doesn’t ask any questions when he comes home, but Chris figures Lisa filled him in when he gets a hug that lasts longer than an average welcome-home hug would. 

He cuffs Chris’s neck and tells him in an overly-cheery voice, “It’s good to see you.” 

They all hover around him. It’s what he came home for, but it’s somehow too much. Chris goes to bed early. The next morning, they let him sleep in, and Chris doesn’t bother getting out of bed for almost an hour after waking up.

Without anything to do to occupy his mind, he’s fidgety and anxious throughout the day. He calls his manager to tell her he’s staying with family, which she’s learned over the years to mean not to call him until she hears back from him. He takes a long walk around the neighborhood, but it does nothing to settle his nerves.

He’s eating dinner with Scott and his parents when he gets a text. Curious, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the screen. At the sight of Sebastian’s name in bold letters, he drops his fork, already halfway out of his chair by the time he’s read the rest. _i want to have sex_

“What’s going on?” Scott asks as Chris starts toward his room.

“Sebastian,” Chris answers quickly. Lisa claps excitedly, and Chris tries not to laugh, embarrassment mixing with overwhelming relief. He sends back a text as fast as he can type. _I can catch a plane._ He throws the clothes he wore last night back into his bag and zips it up, slinging it over his shoulder.

A quick glance at his watch tells Chris it’s almost 7 PM. If he leaves for the airport now, he could probably catch a commuter flight and be there in about two hours. His phone beeps in his hand and he squints distractedly at the screen.

His heart stops. _not with you_. Shattered, Chris drops his bag to the floor. He’s still staring blankly at his phone when the second text pips in. _im just asking for permission_

For an instant, all Chris feels is indignance. Sebastian had to have known how Chris would take that. He’d done that on purpose, to make Chris feel foolish. He starts to respond before thinking. _I don’t fucking think so, kid._ but hesitates before hitting send.

Cringing, he deletes it and takes a deep breath. He knows he shouldn’t be angry, but he’s not entirely sure _how_ to feel. Sebastian’s clearly still furious with him, but if he’s going through the effort to ask permission, that has to be a good sign, doesn’t it? _Or,_ Chris realizes, _he just wants to make sure you know he’s going out to fuck someone who isn’t you._

Forcing himself to remain calm, Chris takes several tries to compose an answer that isn’t petty and possessive. Sebastian may be asking permission, but Chris can’t let himself think that means they can act as if nothing happened. When he finally works something out and hits send, it still seems too controlling after how they left things. Nervously, he tries to downplay his own words. _I just need to know if you’re okay._

The only response he gets in return is _fuck you_.

Well, fuck.

Cold panic forces him to answer back _I’m sorry, I just need to hear you’re okay._ No response. _Sebastian?_ Another minute or two and he tries again, _I’ll give you permission, please just talk to me. Tell me you’re all right._ Nothing.

His resolve crumbles and he calls him, but Sebastian doesn’t pick up. “Sebastian,” he tells the voicemail, “please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – I just want...I’m worried that you’ve crashed, I need...I need to hear you tell me you’re okay. Are you okay? Fuck, I just. Please call me back. I’m sorry.” 

That’s it. If by some miracle he hadn’t before, he’s fucking blown it, now. Sebastian’s never going to want to talk to him again. God willing they’re even able to work comfortably together, now. _I’m sorry,_ he texts again, at a loss of what else to do. _I’m sorry, I just want to talk to you, please._

He’s spent too long trying now. Sebastian hasn’t responded in almost half an hour, and Chris has no reason to sit here any longer, staring at his goddamn phone.

Almost automatically, he moves to call Sebastian again, but Scott’s voice is suddenly in his head, _“You come off a bit too Glenn Close boiling his rabbit.”_ The thought reminds him of his family all sitting at the dinner table, waiting to hear that everything’s all right. They all know Sebastian’s texted him now. They’ll all want to know what happened.

What is he even going to say? His family’s far too nosey not to ask how the conversation went, and the idea of explaining how it even started is enough to make Chris want to hide in this room until they all go to bed.

The appeal of that idea seems to help reality seep in. It’s over. It’s actually over. He knew he’d fuck it up. It’s what he fucking gets for letting himself think things would be okay. Scott had told him to quit worrying, that it was all an overreaction – always an overreaction – but Chris knew. He always ruins it. Goes too far. Wants too much. He’s crying before he even realizes it, tears blurring the hard focus still held on his phone. 

It’s not fair. He thought he was doing the right thing. He wanted to do the right thing. He wishes there were some way to get Sebastian to see that without sounding manipulative or demanding. He doesn’t want to be angry at Sebastian, so instead he’s angry at himself.

Why couldn’t he have just told Sebastian he loves him? So what if Sebastian was too far under to have his own thoughts on it in that moment? Why couldn’t Chris keep his mouth shut for a few hours? It seemed so impossible to wait, before, but Chris hates himself now, for not just letting Sebastian come back to himself warm and happy like he should have. It seems like such an obvious choice that Chris should have been there to bring him back.

Chris could’ve held him through it. Sebastian had wanted him there. He could’ve stroked his hair and given him time, bathed and dressed him and waited. Chris falls back onto his bed and stares at the ceiling. It felt comfortable, Sebastian curled next to him. Chris misses it. He could’ve had it last night, could’ve still had it now if he’d just shut his goddamn mouth. Why is he such an idiot?

The chance is lost, now. How is it that Chris thought it’d be smarter to leave instead of just tell him? Maybe it would’ve freaked Sebastian out, but Chris can’t imagine it would’ve made him as angry as Chris leaving him has. Chris pinches the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t deserve Sebastian to forgive him, anyway. _Chris_ sure as hell isn’t going to.

He loses track of time. It’s almost dark outside his window when there’s a knock on the door. Chris drags his hand over his face and hopes he looks relatively casual when he calls out, “Yeah?”

Scott pops his head into the room. “Everything okay?”

No. “Sure.”

“Is he still mad?”

Chris nods, and silence settles on them for a moment. “Well, at least he’s talking to you now, though, right?”

“Yeah,” Chris lets himself lie, “he’s not...it’ll be fine.” He’s never been much of a liar, but he’s done enough moping over this. He doesn’t need his family worrying any more than they already are. Despite his voice sounding tense and dishonest to his own ears, Scott seems to buy it.

“That’s good news! Cheer up, Chicken Little.”

“You’re an ass,” Chris answers without malice. Scott laughs, but doesn’t leave, and Chris figures this is his last chance to get up and act like everything’s fine before Scott starts prying. God forbid he ask to see Chris’s phone again. The mere thought drags Chris to his feet like a puppet on strings.

Walking into the living room, the first words out of Lisa’s mouth are, “So is everything okay?” Chris looks to Scott, suddenly wishing he could take back everything and tell his mother the truth, but it’s too late. Lisa is smiling, and Scott looks hopeful, and Chris just feels like a child. 

_Sebastian doesn’t love you. It’s finished. Get over it._ “Yeah,” he says finally, sticking to the same vague lie, “it’ll be fine.”

Lisa beams at him. “That’s wonderful, honey,” she says. “He just needed some time to cool off, that’s all!” Chris nods, but doesn’t want to say anything else. He just wants to stop talking about it. Pretend it isn’t happening. Pretend it never happened. 

Abruptly, the thought goes through his head that he should have never come to Sebastian with this. Now everything’s ruined and they still have to work together. How are they going to work together when Sebastian hates him so much?

His silence must come off somewhat uncomfortable, because Scott pipes up, “Apparently he still needs a little time, but he’s winding down.” He pats Chris’s shoulder, and Chris nods. Just change the subject. Anything else. The sooner he can forget this ever even happened, the better it is for everyone.

“Dad,” he manages pointedly, “how’s work been?”

It’s obvious. Too obvious, really, he can see it in Scott and Lisa’s faces, turned on him with a hint more worry than they had before, but at least it gets the focus on something that isn’t Sebastian. His father thankfully seems to understand, and launches into a story about giving a little boy his first x-rays on his teeth the day before.

When Chris sits down, Lisa gets him a soda from the kitchen, placing it in front of him with a kiss to his temple, and Bob moves on to a teeth cleaning story that ended with the man sneezing in his face.

The tension from before seems to finally ease from the room. Chris even finds it in him to laugh once or twice. It’s warm and gentle and why he came home, and he’s glad for it. Lisa takes notice and squeezes his arm lovingly.

She has cake in the fridge for dessert. Chris takes a large slice for himself, and Scott sneaks up behind him at the table and switches their plates.

“You know you don’t have to do that anymore,” Chris says resignedly, eating Scott’s smaller piece. “We’re grown men, you could just get a bigger slice for yourself.”

“You’re only saying that because you lost.”

Chris’s answer is cut off by the sound of a phone ringing. It takes a split second for him to realize it’s his ringtone. Other than the texts from Sebastian, his phone hasn’t made any noise at all in the past two days, and Chris is startled by how quickly he brings the phone to his face when he’s still in shock from being contacted in the first place.

Sebastian’s caller ID photo smirks back at him, and Chris slides his thumb over it, already out of his chair by the time he presses the phone to his ear. 

“Sebastian,” he whispers, tension spooling so quickly out of his muscles he feels as if he’s about to go limp. He sees Scott give him a thumbs up out of the corner of his eye as he walks down the hallway, shutting the door to his room before Sebastian has even said anything.

Not even hello. Curious, Chris asks a little loudly into the receiver, “Sebastian? Can you hear me?” The thought that Sebastian may have accidentally dialed his number from his pocket goes through Chris’s head, and he feels lightheaded with the how quickly fear and worry go back to tightening his spine. What was he thinking? Of course this was an accident. It hasn’t even been two hours since his text.

It’s another few seconds before there’s any sound on the other line. Finally, Chris hears the sharp gasp of Sebastian taking a breath, as if he’s about to speak, but it’s only followed by the chilling sound of Sebastian bursting into tears.

Time freezes. Chris’s lungs turn to rocks in his chest. “Sebastian?” Chris manages, leaning back against the door to stabilize himself. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His throat is closing up and his vision is swimming, and Sebastian can barely get the breath to answer.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian says finally, his voice helpless, and Chris’s legs go suddenly numb. “I’m – I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He repeats over and over, and Chris moves unthinkingly, running out of his room and racing down the hall.

The rest of his family is still sitting together at the kitchen table, and Chris snatches Scott’s keys out of the key bowl on the counter. “I have to borrow your car,” he says softly, pulling his face away from the phone to hiss at Scott, who looks up at him, his knowing smirk turning alarmed at the sight of Chris’s face.

“I – yeah,” Scott says. “Everything okay?”

Chris doesn’t know if he answers or not before turning back to his phone speaker. “Where are you, Sebastian?” he asks quickly. “I’m gonna come get you, okay?” Scott gets to his feet, but before he can say anything Chris moves the phone to talk to him again. “I’ll leave it at Logan. I’ll text you.”

Scott hesitates, midway between standing and sitting, and his mother is on her feet, looking nervous. Sebastian is muttering a half-hearted argument in Chris’s ear, but Chris interrupts him. “I’m coming to get you, Sebastian. Tell me where you are.”

“Do you want me to – ” Scott starts, but Chris is out the door before he can finish.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as Chris gets into Scott’s car, adjusting the mirrors with a bit too much force. Sebastian’s lack of response is starting to make Chris’s heart race. 

“Seb, I need you to talk to me, okay?”

“Okay,” Sebastian responds instantly, automatically. He sounds almost as if he’s going into shock. Chris feels bile sting at the back of his throat.

“Do you know where you are?”

No answer. Scott is suddenly there, hammering on the window. “Let me drive,” he says loudly through the other side of the glass, and Chris doesn’t put up a fight, scooting into the passenger seat as Scott rips the door open. 

“Jesus,” he mutters to himself, fixing the mirrors back, “Letting you borrow my car when you look like you’re gonna fuckin’ faint, what the hell am I thinking?”

Chris isn’t listening. The car starts with a roar and backs a little too quickly out of the driveway. Scott asks something, but Chris just closes his eyes and breathes in deep. Hold one, two, out one, two. 

“Hey,” he says finally, gently as he can. “Seb, c’mon, you gotta answer me, okay? Do you know where you are?”

A long pause, but not long enough for Chris to panic again before he finally spits out, “Yeah.” Before Chris can ask, he gives him the name of a club Chris has seen when they were downtown, followed by an almost too-fast, “Room 142.”

The blood drains from Chris’s face. His hands are cold. His chest feels tight. Breathe. He’s okay. He’s present enough to talk on the phone that has to mean he’s okay. Everything’s okay. “ _What the fuck is happening?_ ” Scott’s voice is barely above a whisper. Chris shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian says when Chris goes long enough without responding, and Chris’s head swims. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – ”

“Sebastian,” Chris cuts off abruptly. If he apologizes one more time Chris thinks he’s going to have a heart attack. “Are you – ?” His voice is strangled, throat tight. Another square breath. Calm down. Clear throat. Breathe. Speak. “Are you alone?”

From the driver’s seat, Scott grumbles, “Fuck,” mostly to himself. Chris ignores him.

“Yeah,” Sebastian answers after a quiet sniffle. He sounds unsure, like he doesn’t know if he should mention that he hadn’t been earlier, but Chris already guessed that much.

“Okay,” he says, but he isn’t sure if he’s more worried or relieved that someone isn’t there with him now. It’s a dull enough evening on the road that Scott feels safe enough to speed, and Chris, for once, doesn’t scold him for it.

“Are you – ” More square breathing. Calm down. Scott keeps glancing over at him like he’s afraid Chris is going to pass out. He feels like he might. “Are you safe?” He’s focused so desperately on how much he needs the answer to be yes that he hears Sebastian mumble something without being sure of what it is.

He’d said it so quietly that Chris is worried he answered _no_ and while he wants an honest answer, he isn’t sure he can handle having to ask Sebastian to repeat that he’s not safe. He doesn’t say anything, struck dumb, until Sebastian takes a shaky breath. “I – yeah,” he says finally.

“Okay,” Chris says on a breath, and Scott puts a hand on his shoulder when they get to a red light. “Okay, it’s going to be okay, Sebastian,” he says more firmly than he feels. “I need you to stay put, okay? Don’t – don’t move.”

He hangs up before Sebastian even responds and puts his head in his hands. “Wanna tell me what the hell is going on?” Scott asks finally, and Chris looks out the window, watching the inside of the tunnel whir past.

“I’ll text you when I know,” Chris says quietly. Scott nods.

“Are you – should I go with you, or do you need – ”

“It’s fine,” Chris says. “Go home and tell mom I’m sorry I ran out like that.”

Scott reaches over to pat his leg. “I think she gets it, bro,” he says. Chris wishes he could be calm about this. He feels like he’s about to cry.

When he actually starts crying, Scott opens the armrest compartment and pulls out a travel packet of tissues. “Take ‘em,” he says when Chris only tries to pull one from the tight plastic wrapper. “It’s fine, you need ‘em.”

Chris manages to pull himself together enough to be presentable by the time Scott drops him at the front of the airport. He keeps his head down when asking for a ticket, but the girl at the counter is in her early twenties, and lights up when he makes eye contact.

She’s sweet, able to tell he’s upset and getting him a first class ticket on the next flight to New York with minimal, strictly professional questions. 

“Boarding’s in, like, thirty minutes,” she says nervously, playing with the tail of her braid and looking away from him, as if afraid he’s going to pull some sort of irritated celebrity stunt if she says anything else.

Chris feels guilty, making her feel awkward just because he’s famous. It’s not an uncommon feeling for him, but it’s the first time he’s felt this way with his eyes still probably red from crying in Scott’s car. “Thank you,” he says, smiling as wide as he can, and she smiles shyly in return.

“Can I tweet about running into you?” She asks timidly, and he laughs.

It feels surreal, and he’s glad she didn’t ask for a photo, because he’s not feeling up to one. Still, he takes a pen out of his pocket and grabs a luggage tag. He glances at her nametag before writing _Thanks for getting me where I need to go, Annie_ and signing underneath it. She looks flabbergasted when he hands it to her, and he manages a wink. “Proof.”

“Thank you!” She calls out after him as he runs toward security, where he gets recognized by two of the guards with a smile. The one standing at the end of the conveyer belt calls him Captain America when he says to have a good flight while Chris is putting his shoes back on. He smiles at all of them, but he’s worried and nervous, and he can tell it shows when they leave him be.

When he makes it to the gate, early boarding has already started, which he allows himself to opt for just to keep from having a panic attack while standing in the aisle. 

The flight is a blur. He can’t force himself to focus on anything other than the sharp, nerve-wracking sound of Sebastian crying, still echoing in his head like a recording, reminding him on every repeat _you should have been there_. 

When the plane lands his first instinct is to run for a cab, but as he’s headed out the door he realizes that he doesn’t want a cab driver seeing Sebastian in whatever state he’s in. God forbid they recognize either of them in that situation.

Chris has had enough awkward interactions for one day, he figures, turning on his heel and running to the car rental counter. The man at the counter is in his late 40s. If he knows who Chris is, he isn’t familiar enough to actually care. He hands Chris the keys to a fancy SUV and says in a stiffly kind voice, “Enjoy New York.”

When he drives up to the club his first instinct is to look for a back entrance. It’s just late enough at night that no paparazzo are out to see them, but he doesn’t really want anyone out and around for the evening recognizing them, either. He can guess from their phone conversation that Sebastian’s not going to really be in the mood to deal with strangers coming up to them.

The bouncer at the back door, if he recognizes Chris, doesn’t mention it. He’s probably dealt with plenty of famous people coming in and out of this club to not be impressed anymore. Chris is grateful for that.

He finds the elevator and takes it to the first floor of rooms, racing down the hall looking for room 142. He expects to knock when he finds it, but the door is slightly ajar when he reaches it, and it sends Chris reeling.

Is Sebastian even in there anymore? Did he wander off? Did someone come in? What if he’s in there but not conscious? What if someone else is in there? Chris puts his hand on the knob, but fear roots him to the spot. With every possible worst case scenario, Chris doesn’t want to find out which one ends up being true. 

If anything’s happened to Sebastian, it’s Chris’s fault. What the fuck was he thinking, leaving him like that? How could he possibly think leaving him to crash alone would work out in his favor? What kind of selfish bastard is he? How could he think Sebastian would forgive him for doing something like that? Chris certainly doesn’t deserve to be forgiven now. If Sebastian’s even in here to forgive him.

He’s in here, Chris tells himself. He’s here and he’s okay and everything will be fine if Chris can just open the damn door. Finally, he pushes it open, eyes to the floor in preparation to avoid looking Sebastian in the eye.

What he isn’t expecting is for Sebastian to be where Chris’s eyes land, crumpled in the far corner of the room and digging at the skin of his arms. 

“Shit,” Chris whispers, and every worst scenario flies out of his head to leave this behind, Sebastian staring blankly ahead as if he hadn’t even heard Chris come in.

“Sebastian,” Chris says, voice soft as he kneels down next to him. Sebastian jumps slightly as he looks up. He _hadn’t_ heard Chris come in. He’s looking at Chris like he never expected him to be here. Like Sebastian is the one who should be apologizing. It makes Chris sick as he pulls Sebastian’s hands to his chest to keep him still.

“Sebastian, stop.” He realizes he’s crying again when his voice comes out much softer than he means it to, sticking thick and clumsy in his throat. Sebastian is shivering and quiet and ashen. His eyes are red-rimmed and dull, and Chris can’t stand it. He tightens his grip briefly on Sebastian’s wrists on instinct to calm him down, but he doubts Sebastian can feel anything at all judging from the state of his arms.

This is all his fucking fault. “Shh, Seb, breathe,” he says, unable to take his own advice. “It’s okay. It’s – ” He’s afraid to let go of Sebastian’s wrists, worried that he’ll go back to scratching at himself, but places his hands on Sebastian’s face to keep his focus. “I’m so sorry, Sebastian, I’m so – _fuck_.” He drags Sebastian to his chest, holding him close.

Sebastian goes too easily, falling awkwardly against Chris without any attempt to even catch or right himself, but Chris can’t focus on that yet. “The door was open,” he remembers aloud. “Are you sure no one’s here? You’re safe?”

Sebastian nods, but he’s still shivering, talking over Chris to apologize again. They’re like rocks in Chris’s stomach, and he tries to cut him off. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry, too, I’m so...” he takes a couple shaky breaths, trying to get the tunnel vision to fade. He focuses on Sebastian. Cupping his face firmly in his hands.

Deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Sebastian. But everything’s okay.” He’s proud of himself for sounding more sure of that than he is, briefly – hysterically, he scolds himself – wondering if he should drive Sebastian to a hospital. Shaking his head, he adds in an attempt at reassurance for them both, “I’m here. I’ve got you, now.”

At the words, Sebastian lets out a quiet, wet little gasp, and Chris runs his thumbs gently over Sebastian’s face. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Sebastian.” _This crash was the last mistake I’ll ever make. No one else will ever touch you again._ “I’m right here. I promise.” _And I’ll never leave you alone again._

How is he still this scared?

Whimpering, Sebastian’s fingers curl in Chris’s shirt. He’s shivering, and Chris can’t tell if he’s pushing away or pulling closer. He sounds like he’s trying to speak, but Chris can’t understand him anymore. Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, he keeps talking because he’s afraid to stop at this point.

“You’ve crashed pretty hard, Sebastian,” he informs him uselessly. He wants to keep talking, to fill the horrible silence of Sebastian staring dully back at him as if he isn’t even hearing anything Chris is saying. The words are on his tongue, underneath a thousand more apologies and begging for forgiveness, but none of that can happen now.

Cringing, Chris wonders if it can happen at all anymore. He can feel Sebastian trembling against him and manages breathlessly, “You’re shaking. Can – can you breathe?” Sebastian gulps without answering, and Chris, trying not to panic, rolls his fingernails calmingly over Sebastian’s neck. “I know you’re scared, but you’re gonna be okay.”

There are tears under Chris’s fingers. Sebastian is shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” Chris tells him before he can start to take blame again. “I’m so sorry. I’m gonna take care of you now.”

Helping Sebastian to his feet is an ordeal. Sebastian’s legs crumple under his own weight, either asleep from being crouched on the floor for as long as he had been, or just numb like the rest of him. Chris takes most of his weight while helping him back into his clothes, flinching when Sebastian’s hand fists blindly in his hair.

It feels awkwardly like a flash of normalcy until Sebastian lets go of him with a sob, as if afraid he’s broken some sort of rule. Apologies are spilling out of him again so fast Chris has trouble understanding one word from another.

Chris shushes him gently, wiping tears from Sebastian’s face to hide how much his hands are shaking. “C’mon, Seb, it’s okay. I rented a car. I’m taking you home.” Sebastian struggles out of his grip, and Chris has a moment of panic as he stumbles to get away.

“No,” he manages, and Chris feels ice pull tight in his veins. “No, I need – punish me, I shouldn’t – shouldn’t have – ”

_Oh God,_ Chris thinks wildly, hoping he hadn’t said it aloud as he grabs Sebastian’s wrists back. “Sebastian,” he says as firmly as he can, anxiety thick at the back of his throat. Sebastian goes quiet, and Chris wonders if he should be so authoritative with him right now.

Regardless, it seems to get Sebastian’s attention, so he keeps his voice deep and solid. “Listen to me, now. You remember reading about crashing, right?” Sebastian doesn’t answer, rapt attention on Chris’s face. Chris sighs. “You’ve disassociated. This is serious. I can’t punish you now, that’s not an option. You wouldn’t even feel it if I did. See?”

Gentle as possible, Chris lifts Sebastian’s raw arm to his line of sight. Sebastian blinks, looking confused, and Chris takes a deep breath through his teeth. “Do you remember doing this?”

He doesn’t. Chris can tell in the way Sebastian’s brow is furrowed, like he doesn’t even think it’s his own arm. “I...” he starts, tongue clicking as he swallows thickly in thought. “I was...” He’s quiet for another minute, and Chris realizes after too long that he isn’t going to finish his sentence.

Chris pets his hair until Sebastian meets his eyes again. “I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” he says again, and Sebastian lets out a quiet gasp like he’s still not expecting or deserving of apology. Chris feels sick. “This isn’t your fault, okay? This – ” _is my fault. All my fault. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me._ Deep breath. Stay calm. “I have to take care of you first, do you understand?”

Silence. Sebastian doesn’t answer for a long time, shaking his head. “I went against...” he starts, coughing, not meeting Chris’s eyes. Chris shushes him, fingers light on his jaw to keep Sebastian’s attention on his face. Schooling his expression to stay calm and forgiving. Not scared, for the love of God, don’t look scared.

“Shh, don’t worry about that. I have you now, Sebastian, all right? I’m right here.” Hesitantly, he adds, “I – I’ll take care of everything else later, okay?” He lets himself believe it’s true for now, that when Sebastian comes back to himself he’ll still want Chris around at all, let alone want him to be his dom.

Unconvinced, Sebastian shakes his head, but Chris just shushes him again, hoisting him back to standing, tucking an arm over Chris’s neck so that he can lead him out the back door.

Chris helps Sebastian into the car, and he’s out like a light before Chris even makes it to the driver’s side. “I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” he tells deaf ears. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault because I was too scared to talk to you.”

This is such a cop-out. Chris takes comfort in the fact that he doesn’t really feel absolved, talking to Sebastian while he’s unconscious. Still, he can’t seem to help himself. It’s too fucking quiet. “It’s harder than I thought it would be,” he says, glancing into the passenger seat to make sure Sebastian’s still asleep. 

He doesn’t feel any better, but the words keep flowing. “Being casual. Friends with benefits. I’ve never really done it this way before. I mean, not for this...” He clears his throat, unsure why he’s so shy when Sebastian isn’t even awake to hear him. “Not for this kind of thing. Not for this long.”

Stupid. “That’s no excuse. There’s no excuse. I’m so sorry. I’m such a fucking idiot.” Another glance. “How do I expect you to be open and honest with me if I can’t do it for you? I’m such a fucking asshole.” There’s a lump forming in Chris’s throat, but he swallows hard until it fades.

“Scott says I should just tell you. He’s right. I need to tell you. I wanna tell you.” He chews on his lip, turning at a light, almost to Sebastian’s building. He reaches out to run his hand through Sebastian’s hair. “I hope...I hope it’s okay. With you. That I...” Sebastian’s dead asleep, but it still won’t come out of his mouth. “How I feel,” Chris says instead.

It’s ridiculous. He’s passed out and Chris still can’t say it. What is _wrong_ with him?


	5. Chapter 5

Sebastian jostles awake when Chris pulls him out of the car, but Chris carries him anyway. It’s too late to run into anyone, and Sebastian nuzzles into Chris as he carts him through his apartment and gently sets him down on his bed. Sebastian moves limp and tired as Chris pulls off his coat and jeans. He’s still shivering, so Chris wraps the blanket at the foot of Sebastian’s bed around his shoulders.

Something about the action must be too familiar, because Sebastian, moving purely on instinct, leans forward as if expecting Chris to kiss him. Chris feels a sick sort of relief wash over him and presses a kiss to his cheek. As he pulls away, he forces himself not to think about the possibility that it could be the last kiss he gives Sebastian.

The possibility worms its way into his thoughts regardless, as it always does, and it makes Chris move slower, guiltily trying to make it last as long as it can. He removes Sebastian’s shoes and socks tenderly, rolling each ankle as he does in a desperate attempt to be comforting. He hesitates getting back to his feet, placing his hand on Sebastian’s knee to help lever himself up. The touch makes Sebastian’s breathing stop for a beat, and Chris’s head jerks up to meet his eyes.

It’s the first time they’ve had eye contact since Chris got him out of that club, and Sebastian looks as if he’s about to burst into tears. Nerves seize Chris’s throat. Does Sebastian not want to be touched? He pulls his hand away. Of course he doesn’t, not by Chris. This is all his fault. 

Swallowing hard, Chris tries to focus on something else. “I’m going to get you some water,” he says, watching comprehension blink into Sebastian’s eyes. “Then I’m going to come right back. Understand?” 

He waits for Sebastian to nod before leaving his side, moving so fast to get him water he spills it over himself twice before his hands are steady enough to bring it back. Sebastian curls into him when Chris sits on the bed, letting him hold the glass against his lips. The room’s too quiet when Chris sets the glass down. 

Sebastian still looks like hell. It’s quite possible he hasn’t showered since Chris left, which he decides to focus on later. He’s not sure how to breach the subject, so he ventures, “Do you want me to give you a bath?”

Sebastian stares at him, looking utterly blank, and Chris’s mouth goes dry, worried he’s said something wrong. It was too much, offering a bath. Pushing too hard. Sebastian isn’t ready for that. He’s barely in the right mind for Chris to be here at all. 

And suddenly, that realization digs itself into Chris’s brain and won’t let go. Every time he tries to prevent bad things from happening he only makes them worse. He’s fucked it up beyond repair, now. _You shouldn’t even be here,_ his mind supplies caustically, but he ignores it. He has to. That was exactly the line of thought that got Sebastian into this. 

It’s been too long since Chris asked the question, so he prods tentatively, “Sebastian?” He’s already reaching for him when Sebastian abruptly starts to cry. It’s loud, piercing and unnerving like when he’d first called Chris’s phone. At a loss of what else to do, Chris holds him close, rocking him anxiously back and forth in his lap.

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks stupidly, not expecting an answer but still absently pausing for one, running his hand carefully through Sebastian’s hair as he feels tears soaking through his shirt. “Sebastian, please, it’s okay.”

It sounds foolish to say. It isn’t okay. As Sebastian curls closer against Chris, he can feel tears smearing over his neck and drenching his already wet shirt. Sebastian shakes his head, whimpering against his shoulder. Chris’s heart clenches as Sebastian tries to climb into his lap. 

“It’s okay, Seb,” he says again before he can stop himself, “It’s okay.”

He hates himself for it, but holding Sebastian like this is more of a relief than it should be. He didn’t think he’d ever get the chance again, and even with the circumstance, it’s comforting to be able to touch him like this after what happened when they were together last. 

He doesn’t want to focus on how this could be the last time Sebastian lets him do this. He presses his lips to Sebastian’s temple and whispers whatever comes to mind. 

“Everything will be okay, Sebastian. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

It doesn’t seem to have any effect on quieting Sebastian’s sobs, so eventually Chris goes silent, rocking him gently as he stops shivering. When Sebastian finally pulls away, he looks at the shirt like it’s too uncomfortable to lay against anymore. It was already drenched to begin with, after Chris spilled water all over himself twice before coming back here, but Sebastian only seems to have just noticed. 

Chris wonders if Sebastian thinks it’s entirely his fault. He shirks it off, realizing belatedly that Sebastian may not want him lying half naked in his bed with him anymore. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, feeling awkward. Sebastian looks confused as he nods, and Chris can’t tell if it’s an honest answer or if he’s still struggling with comprehension. “Can you speak?” he asks gently.

A whimper isn’t exactly a response either way, and that makes Chris nervous. He read up on crashing almost more than he read into anything else, but everything he read made it sound unlikely that it would ever get this bad. Why did he ever think it would be okay to leave Sebastian like that? He knew better. He deserves this, not Sebastian. 

And that’s the worst thing about it, really. Chris is used to fucking up, he’s used to things being his fault. But he should be the one to pay for his own mistakes, not Sebastian. As much as Chris can promise that he’ll never make this mistake again, it’s already bad enough that he made it once. He doesn’t deserve the chance to make it again.

He sighs and pets Sebastian’s back, feeling his body relax under Chris’s fingers. It’s an unfair reassurance that this may end up all right, but Chris doesn’t let himself linger on the idea that he’ll be forgiven. 

“Are you okay? Can you breathe? Feeling a little clearer?” The questions all tumble out of Chris’s mouth at once, and he blanches. Sebastian groans, and Chris wants to ask them each again, slower, but before he can, he feels Sebastian nod.

It’s like a weight lifted off his chest, and Chris lets out a heavy breath of relief. He’s okay. He’ll be okay. He glances down at Sebastian half-buried against him and watches him breathe. These times with him are numbered, Chris knows that. He also knows that Sebastian will try and find this again. He hadn’t realized this part of him before, and now thanks to Chris he seems to downright need it on a certain level.

It won’t be Chris to do it any longer. Chris closes his eyes and lets that thought sink in for a moment. He needs to make sure that whoever _does_ take care of Sebastian from now on won’t hurt him like Chris did. That can never happen again. If it can’t be up to Chris anymore, he has to make sure Sebastian knows to be safe.

“You need to be more careful,” he manages. His voice is stronger than it should be. “They could’ve hurt – ” His words catch up to his brain, and he falters. His eyes fall on a finger-shaped bruise along the base of Sebastian’s throat, and his hand itches to touch it, to massage it away. _To make his own,_ flashes briefly through Chris’s mind, and he flinches.

“They _did_ hurt you,” Chris corrects softly, scolding himself. “They could’ve hurt you worse.” _Like I did_ , his mind is quick to supply, and Chris bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep it from coming out of his mouth.

Sebastian inhales, deep and sharp the way people do as they finish sobbing. “I don’t care,” he says abruptly. It’s been so long since he’s spoken that his voice is cracked and almost too quiet to hear, but Chris feels it like a knife in his ribs.

“I do,” he snaps back without thinking. His voice comes off too harsh, and he can feel Sebastian twitch against him, as if frightened. Instantly, Chris feels panicked and shakes his head, holding Sebastian closer as if afraid he’s going to bolt. 

“It’s okay,” he says, but his voice doesn’t sound as sure as did a moment ago. He’s so tired of saying the wrong thing, of hurting Sebastian like this. If nothing else he wants Sebastian to leave this knowing Chris is sorry for how badly he ruined it.

“Try and get some sleep,” he says gently. “I’ll be right here.”

Sebastian’s breathing evens out almost as he’s getting comfortable against Chris’s chest. Chris listens to his soft little snore for a moment, sliding fingers through the hair at his temples, slick with sweat and tears. Chris watches the shadows shift in the bedroom as he waits to be sure Sebastian is under deep enough for him to move. Even after he knows it’s been long enough, he won’t even let himself breathe too deeply. 

“You’re so good,” Chris lets out in a rush of air, fingers stilling in Sebastian’s hair as he speaks. “You deserve everything.” He’s not even sure what he means as the words leave him. “I want to give you everything. I’m sorry it – I’m sorry I couldn’t.”

When he finally lets himself move, it’s only to text Scott. _I’ve got him, he’s okay._ It’s a lie, but it won’t be for long. Chris will make sure of that. _I’m gonna stay with him for a while. I’ll let you know when everything is settled._

Sebastian’s alarm clock reads almost 2 AM when Chris finally shuffles out from under him. Sebastian lets out a soft huff before curling tightly against Chris’s pillow and resuming his snoring. Chris smiles, watching him for a moment before finding a notepad and pen in the kitchen. He writes _Making you something to eat. You’re not alone._ He sets it over the bright electric clock face to be sure Sebastian sees it, and it casts the room in deeper shadow.

Back in the kitchen, Chris is aghast to find Sebastian’s inventory isn’t nearly as stable as it had been last time he made a meal at Sebastian’s place. The fridge is all but empty and the cupboards only reveal a few cans of vegetables and some boxes of cereal. He frowns and goes back into the bedroom. On the other side of the paper he writes. _I’m coming back. Please don’t be scared._ He takes a chance and places a quick kiss in Sebastian’s hair before jumping back into the car.

He’s not entirely sure where he’s going as he drives. He and Sebastian didn’t go out much when Chris was the one to come down, and when they did, it was only short walks to grab a bite to eat at normal dining hours. He drives past a convenience store before getting too far and parks haphazardly in the nearest spot, forgoing the meter. He won’t let himself be too long.

The shop is nearly empty. Chris is self-conscious, feeling obnoxiously out of place for the hour. The old man at the register doesn’t even look up from his magazine when the bell on the door chimes. There’s a large jar of cranberry juice sitting on a nearby shelf. He grabs it and manages to find a few cans of soup on his way to the register. He’d prefer to make a meal with more iron, but at least a bowl of soup will be quick and easy.

He’s quick to rush back, running into the bedroom before he even sets down the bag of groceries, but Sebastian is still asleep. Chris doesn’t realize how panicked he was until he feels the wash of relief at the sight of him, dozing undisturbed. He knows Sebastian would’ve seen the note, but the idea of leaving him alone still terrifies him. He’s almost ashamed of himself for doing it at all, but he knows it only would’ve been worse to do while Sebastian was awake. 

He creeps back up to Sebastian’s side, placing another furtive kiss on his temple. He wants to curl back into bed with him. The thought goes through his mind that he doesn’t have much chance left for that sort of thing, but it leaves Chris feeling empty, like he hasn’t earned the right back yet.

_You won’t._

Turning the note on the clock over to its original side, Chris tucks the comforter tighter around Sebastian and gives him another kiss. “I’ll be right back,” he says needlessly, “ _right_ back.” He says it, but he can’t force himself to move away, suddenly rooted to the spot with fear that Sebastian will wake up alone. 

The hand still gripping the grocery bag tightens around thin plastic, and Chris flinches when the cans clink loudly against the glass of the bottle of cranberry juice. He stays frozen for a moment, making sure Sebastian doesn’t stir from the noise. When he doesn’t, Chris lets out a soft puff of air against Sebastian’s neck.

“Right back,” he repeats gently, free hand brushing through Sebastian’s hair. He’s quick work in the kitchen, quiet as possible to keep from waking Sebastian. He’s still asleep when Chris comes back into the room, and Chris sets the bowl and glass on the bedside table with a soft _clink_ before reaching over and crumpling his note and tossing it in the trash. There’s no need for it now. He’s not leaving again.

Shifting back underneath Sebastian is what finally brings him back to consciousness. He makes a soft noise almost like a laugh, and Chris feels the strain in his lungs go slack. One corner of Sebastian’s mouth is quirked into a smile when he shifts to look at Chris. It looks almost right, almost normal, and it sends ice crashing back into Chris’s stomach.

“Am I,” Sebastian starts shakily. The pause before the rest of the question stretches for too long. Chris has time to wonder if the trouble is with breathing or with finding the right words before Sebastian finishes, “staying home with the flu?” He sounds like he’s kidding, but it’s not really a funny concept. Chris chews on the inside of his cheek.

“Close enough.”

He sounds angrier than he means to, and what’s left of the smile on Sebastian’s face vanishes. Chris shakes his head, apologizing nervously, but his words fall short now that Sebastian’s present enough to hear them. What kind of excuse is _I love you_ , anyway? How is Sebastian even supposed to believe him, if this is the kind of bullshit Chris pulls? He’s stumbled over his words for too long, and Sebastian takes it upon himself to fill the silence. 

“S’fine,” he mumbles, barely clear enough to understand, “I was stupid.”

“You weren’t,” Chris says, too abruptly. He wants to agree, because he _was_ , but he knows that isn’t fair. Sebastian looks him with an expression of pure shock, and Chris is glad he didn’t say what he was thinking. Chris should be honest and tell him that Sebastian being stupid isn’t the problem. Of course Sebastian did something stupid. He wouldn’t have if Chris hadn’t been _far stupider_ in the first place. 

“I was...” Chris starts, desperate to finish his thoughts, but as the words are out of his mouth he’s not sure how to anymore. “I shouldn’t have left you.” 

He expects Sebastian to say something. To agree. He knows he should. It’s almost as if he wants it, some form of anger to finally take place. He pictures Sebastian pushing him out of the bed and telling him it’s too late, but nothing happens. 

To his horror, Sebastian still looks as if he doesn’t believe this is Chris’s fault. He’s still got that look on his face from the last time they were here together, that heartbreaking look that Chris is worth so much more than he is. He can’t fucking stand being looked at like that. Not now. Not by Sebastian.

He distracts himself by bringing attention to the soup instead, holding it out to feed Sebastian himself before his mind catches up with him. By the time Chris realizes what he’s doing, Sebastian is already leaning down to take the bite. 

Chris knows Sebastian probably doesn’t have the physical presence to do this himself, but he still hates the possessive curl in his stomach as he watches Sebastian take another bite. It feels wrong, the way undressing him earlier had felt, but Chris is too greedy to make any change.

His eyes fall back on the bruise on Sebastian’s throat and he feels an odd flare of anger in his chest. Not at Sebastian, not even at himself, but surprisingly at whoever it was who touched his sweet boy, whoever thought they were allowed to put their hands on Sebastian without Chris’s permission. _Look what they did to your pet._

Chris shakes the thought free. Now isn’t the time. He drops his eyes back to the spoon in his hand and holds out another bite. He shouldn’t let his mind wander that way anymore. That time isn’t coming back. Sebastian’s eyes dart to Chris’s face for a moment, and Chris swallows, keeping his expression even. If Sebastian catches on to what Chris is thinking it’d ruin everything. It would terrify him.

They say nothing to each other, and Chris feeds him in the silence for too long before Sebastian finally says, “I can take care of it myself, you know.” It’s ambiguous, his choice of words. No finality, nothing decidedly against Chris doing this for him, and so Chris lets himself think it isn’t what Sebastian is asking.

He doesn’t lie. Sebastian’s hands are shaking even as they’re perched still in his lap. He doubts Sebastian could even hold the spoon alone, let alone along with the bowl while both are full of soup. His eyes stay trained on Sebastian’s face as he speaks, gauging his reaction, and Sebastian lets it slide, taking the next bite in silence.

“Trust me,” he says finally, hating the way the words feel in his mouth when he doesn’t even trust himself. Just because everything he said was true doesn’t make this right. Sebastian can’t possibly want him here. None of this is fair.

But Sebastian relaxes at the words, his shoulders drooping as he meets Chris’s eyes, briefly, for the first time in hours. The spoon hangs useless a second too long as Sebastian pulls away in wait for another, and Chris is still reeling from the conviction on his face. He moves on autopilot for a few more bites before he can’t stand it anymore, dropping the spoon into the bowl with a bit too much force.

He can’t look Sebastian in the eye, and the words start to come out before he can stop them “What were – ?” He clenches his jaw shut before he can dig himself any deeper. _you trying to prove._

It’s not fair. Chris wants this to be about him, but it isn’t. Sebastian needed a dom. He doesn’t need Chris.

Sebastian watches him blankly, waiting for him to finish the question, and Chris doesn’t know how to without making whatever he asks sound like an accusation. This isn’t about Chris. This doesn’t have anything to do with him.

“You really scared me, Seb.” He tries not to remember the way he looked collapsed in a heap on the floor. He has trouble keeping his eyes on Sebastian’s face, but dropping the gaze to his arms is worse. His skin is still peppered with tiny red pinpricks. His fingers itch to touch him, but Chris doesn’t dare to let himself move, keeping his grip on the bowl still in his hands.

“I know I fucked up, I know.” He wishes he could explain how much. He still feels it locked away deep in his chest, needy and desperate. Words come out of his mouth, pointedly not the ones he wants to say, and they sound too accusatory again. Guilty, he falls silent. He doesn’t want to take this out on Sebastian, as much as a part of him wishes he didn’t have to blame himself. Sebastian’s eyes don’t leave his face, and Chris feels helplessly scrutinized. 

He’s so furious he can’t see straight. He’s not sure if Sebastian can tell, but he doesn’t want him to. Despite himself, Chris is mad at Sebastian. He knows it isn’t Sebastian’s fault in the slightest, which just makes him downright _livid_ at himself. 

Making sure to keep his voice level, he tries again, “Why did you ask my permission if you were just going to ignore it?”

Sebastian sounds as if he’s moments from crying when he answers, “I don’t know.” 

Chris looks up to meet Sebastian’s eyes, but Sebastian is staring at his hands. He’s swallowing repeatedly, trying not to burst into tears, and Chris aches to touch him. Sebastian has never looked quite this small and fragile. Chris isn’t sure what to do.

He’s still scared, residual fear still clenching his skin tighter than it should be. Aside from that his body still manages to feel utterly spent, worn to his limits after the last two days. He doesn’t even remember sleeping. Worst of all, he’s still so _infuriated._ He knows he has no right to it and it’s making him sick to his stomach. He fights past the rage in his head and latches onto the first thing he can think to say that doesn’t sound angry. 

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt,” he finally says, cringing when his voice comes out sounding stung and petulant. He rubs his thumb over the pads of his fingers to satiate the need to touch Sebastian. It’s bad enough he’s lying in bed half naked with him and feeding him soup. “You can’t do this sort of thing with just anyone, okay?”

The look on Sebastian’s face is crushing. He blinks and tears he’d been forcing back finally spill over. It feels wrong for Chris to see, so he looks back at the bowl. 

“If you needed – ” _me._ No. Not anymore. _Don’t let it seem important,_ Chris scolds himself. _This isn’t about you._ “If you need someone else, you need someone who...” 

It’s like swallowing needles, talking like this. Acting as if it’s anyone’s job now. But it’s his own Goddamn fault. It _is_ anyone’s job, now. Chris had his chance and he blew it, and now they’re stuck in this fucking situation where Chris has to act like everything is fine so that he can be sure Sebastian doesn’t make the same mistake again. “...who knows what they’re doing. Okay?”

Tears are still leaving faint wet tracks down Sebastian’s cheeks. He still looks too pale, and the finger-shaped bruise at the base of his throat stands out like a tattoo. Chris has always known Sebastian to be delicate, but he’s never realized before just how deep his vulnerability runs. He hadn’t seemed this fragile when it was Chris leaving marks on him.

Panic shoots through Chris at the idea that he just never noticed, but he shakes it out of his mind before it can take root. _I’m sure of the marks._ He looks back at the bruise on Sebastian’s neck and his hand reaches out and touches it before his brain thinks it all the way through.

Sebastian’s throat goes still under his fingers when he inhales sharply at the contact, and Chris moves his hand away, leaving his fingers to stand out hesitantly an inch from Sebastian’s collarbone. 

The silence is stifling, and Chris speaks before Sebastian can. “Whoever you picked sure did a number on you.”

He doesn’t mean to sound bitter, but the words make Sebastian flinch. He clenches his eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath between his teeth, as if he’s been burned, and Chris feels guilty for being jealous. Sebastian lifts his hand shakily, and Chris brushes his fingers over the mark again to guide him. 

“It’s just here,” he points out, his voice coming out flat. “Wear a collared shirt for a few days, okay?”

Nodding distantly, Sebastian trails his fingers further up his neck until they prod into the mark Chris had left. Chris’s heart sinks. It’ll be over a week before that fades. Until it does, Sebastian’s going to be forced to remember him every time he looks in the mirror. 

“Only a turtleneck or some make-up will cover that,” he says sheepishly. He’s ashamed to hear his voice doesn’t sound nearly as sorry as it should.

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth twitches, the barest hint of a grimace, and the shame at the pit of Chris’s stomach spreads to his chest. Desperate to change the subject, his remembers how Sebastian had been left alone, and he gently takes Sebastian's jaw in his hand to force eye contact. Sebastian hasn’t looked him in the eye in too long, and Chris is afraid he’ll try to lie.

“And they just – left you alone?” He’s surprised with how disbelieving his own voice sounds when it’s the exact same thing he had done. “With the door open like that?” He wants to press further. He bites his tongue to keep from asking how far things went before Sebastian was left alone. Did he crash with the other person in the room, or did it not happen until after they’d left?

He can’t ask that. He doesn’t have the right. Sebastian doesn’t even seem to want to answer what he _did_ ask. 

There’s an odd sort of humiliation in his eyes as he shakes his head. “No – he just got scared. He wasn’t...it was just when I – ” His hands clench hard. He tries to look away, but when when Chris doesn’t, he resignedly meets his eyes again. “When I got upset, he assumed I had a boyfriend and ran off.”

The word ‘boyfriend’ is like ice water in Chris’s veins, and his stomach twists. _Is that what you want?_ He doesn’t ask. His throat is raw from how much force it takes to keep from saying things he shouldn’t. _That can be me. Please let that be me._

He hasn’t spoken, hasn’t reacted, and Sebastian looks frightened. He doesn’t want to make a point of his phrasing. It’s not even the right context to even focus on it at all, but he’s too afraid to open his mouth for fear that he’ll say something he shouldn’t. _I love you, I could be that for you._ Something in him must send the wrong message, because Sebastian suddenly jerks away from him, and his hand clenches around air. 

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian says, tears choking his voice again as he curls back into himself. The back of Chris’s throat burns. Selfish. How can he think about himself when Sebastian is like this? Why can’t he say the right thing? Why can’t he say _anything?_ “I’m sorry I got mad. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sor – ”

“ _Stop,_ ” Chris finally finds his voice to cut Sebastian off, turning around to slam the bowl down on the bedside table and grab the juice, just giving himself something to do that isn’t pull Sebastian back into his arms when he knows it isn’t what Sebastian wants. 

_This isn’t about you._

“C’mon,” he murmurs, helping Sebastian tilt his head to drink. 

He watches Sebastian’s Adam’s apple bob greedily as he gulps down mouthfuls at a time. Chris shushes him, a gentle prodding, barely audible. He doesn’t expect Sebastian to hear him, but he relaxes, taking smaller sips to finish off the glass. It feels normal, almost. Like it used to. He lets his nails drag just barely over Sebastian’s scalp.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Sebastian,” he whispers finally, and Sebastian pulls away from the glass to catch his breath. Chris chews on his lip, thinking the words over in his head, making sure it’s not too much before admitting quietly, “I’m going to take good care of you.”

He expects Sebastian to pull away, or maybe to push at Chris, but all he does is let out a breath that sounds as if he’s been holding it for far too long. 

“Why?” he asks, sounding on the verge of tears again, and Chris feels like someone is standing on his ribcage.

 _Because I love you. Because I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Because this is all my fault and I’m so fucking sorry and I love you, I love you, I love you._ He swallows, getting off the bed so he can help Sebastian drop his feet onto the floor. 

“Because I promised I would,” he finally allows himself to say. Sebastian watches his feet shift into a stable position.

“Are you – ?” Chris has to force himself to stop from asking if Sebastian is okay. He’s asked it enough times. The answer never changes, but Sebastian never tells him the truth anyway. Chris knows better than to think he’s okay. He doesn’t know why Sebastian won’t be honest with him. Sebastian never _used_ to lie. Maybe that was just another privilege Chris has lost now. It serves him right. 

Sebastian still hasn’t looked up from his feet when Chris asks instead, “Do you want to shower on your own?” 

Sebastian’s head jerks up from staring at the floor and he gapes back at Chris. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s trembling, and Chris realizes there probably isn’t a choice to it. It’s like feeding him had been. It feels wrong to have asked, almost as if he’s mocking Sebastian for not being able to take care of himself right now.

Self-loathing makes room for guilt, weighing down Chris’s shoulders. Sebastian may not want him here, but for right now, he still needs him. The thought goes through his head that he’s taking advantage of Sebastian for needing him. He just wants so much to help, to give him everything he should’ve given him before any of this happened. He opens his mouth to apologize, but when he looks at Sebastian his expression is so clear that Chris can almost hear his voice. _Please._

Nodding, Chris helps Sebastian to his feet. When Sebastian stumbles from his own weight, Chris’s hands are lightning quick to catch him. He doesn’t let go of Chris’s arm even after reestablishing his balance, and Chris lets himself drink in the memory of holding him, lets himself pretend nothing has changed, just for a second. Sebastian starts to walk again, and Chris doesn’t pull away, helping to lead him into the bathroom.

As Chris starts the water running, Sebastian strips off his shirt on his own, but afterwards sits still and patient on the toilet, waiting for Chris to stand him up before stepping out of his boxers. The memory of last time is still prominent in Chris’s mind, and he can hear the Romanian words play over again in his head. _“Da, domnule.”_ He clenches his jaw shut and takes Sebastian by the elbows, trying hard to think of anything else.

He doesn’t speak as he washes Sebastian’s hair, and neither does Sebastian. It feels off, different than it used to, but Chris assumes it’s only right that it should. At the very least, he’s happy to watch as the warm water brings colour back to Sebastian’s skin. He’s not shivering anymore.

After rinsing Sebastian’s hair, Chris lathers a washcloth with soap. He scrubs gently at Sebastian’s skin, carefully avoiding his neck and collarbone and starting at his shoulders. Suddenly, Sebastian moves like a whip, yanking the cloth from Chris’s hand and scouring it over the base of his throat. Chris is caught off-guard by how abruptly Sebastian moved, and it takes him a moment to realize what he’s trying to do.

His heart is in his throat when he tries to speak. “Sebastian,” he chides gently, tugging the cloth out of his grip. The skin’s already red from how hard Sebastian was working the cloth, and Chris tisks to himself. 

“It’ll fade,” he assures him quietly, “it’s okay.”

“No,” Sebastian snaps at him, fingers clenching hard around where the cloth had been. Chris daubs tenderly at the pink skin until Sebastian drops his hand. He hadn’t tried to wipe Chris’s mark away, so Chris uses it as an excuse to leave it be, himself.

“It’s light,” he says softly, his eyes trained on his own mark instead, stark and purple against alabaster skin. He wants to pretend the other one isn’t there, and selfishly, that his will never fade. “It won’t last long,” he adds, unsure if he’s telling Sebastian or himself. “A couple days.”

It’s not what Sebastian wants to hear, taking a deep shuddering breath that causes Chris’s hands to jerk back from him. He’s going to make him cry again if he doesn’t stop touching him so much. Maybe he shouldn’t even be here. Sebastian may not be stable enough to stand and shower but bathing doesn’t take a lot of balance. 

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“ _No!_ ” It bursts out of Sebastian with such volume and force that Chris jumps, momentarily paralyzed. Sebastian hasn’t spoken with that much conviction in days, let alone since Chris picked him up from the club. 

Going back to washing him in silence, Chris lets himself think that maybe this _is_ what Sebastian wants. Not just a dom, but Chris. At least for right now, Sebastian wants him here, taking care of him. It’s temporary, but that doesn’t matter. Chris relaxes and lets himself indulge in what Sebastian seems to want.

Careful and hesitant, Chris reaches out and brushes wet hair from Sebastian’s eyes, intently gauging the way he shivers from the touch. Chris has a sudden, vivid image of slamming Sebastian against the wall of the tub, sloshing water all over the bathroom floor as he crashes in after him and claims him again and again. His. He’ll never make this mistake again. Sebastian is his.

His fingers grip a bit too tightly in Sebastian’s hair at the thought, and he feels Sebastian’s spine straighten from the pressure. He’s about to apologize, but Sebastian doesn’t look as if he wants one. His eyes are shut, his breathing soft and even, almost as if he’s asleep. Chris’s heart speeds up. Almost as if he’s gone under. 

“Sebastian,” Chris whispers, and his eyes snap open. “Come on, that’s enough.”

Sebastian nods, and Chris helps him out of the tub. He stumbles a little as he tries to find his footing, and Chris holds him by both elbows as Sebastian stares confusedly at the tile floor, as if looking for something he may have tripped over. 

“I tried to tell you,” Chris reminds him. “That was a bad crash.” 

Sebastian doesn’t look at him and the words feel unintentionally snide in Chris’s mouth. He pets hair back from Sebastian’s face, and when Sebastian looks up, he smiles. The bath did a good job of bringing his colour back, and he’s finally stopped trembling when Chris towels off his hair. 

“You’re already looking a lot better,” he assures them both aloud.


	6. Chapter 6

Back in the bedroom, he sits Sebastian on the edge of the bed and takes some warm, soft clothes from the dresser. Sebastian isn’t normally the type to bother with pajamas, but Chris doesn’t want to force him into feeling underdressed around him. 

Besides, Sebastian gets cold enough coming down _without_ a crash. Chris shudders to think how freezing Sebastian would be now if he didn’t seem so numb. The idea has Chris idly rubbing away the goosebumps from the backs of Sebastian’s arms once he’s dressed him. 

Sebastian’s breathing starts to get labored, and Chris watches him intently. He still looks as if he’s on the verge of tears, and while Chris isn’t sure why, he wants to do everything he can to keep it from happening. 

“You just need some more rest,” he says carefully, offering more soup, but Sebastian makes a face. Chris really just wants to bring him back to bed and hold him like he should have before – should have done instead of disappearing out the front door – until Sebastian is better and happy and all of this is over. 

Instead he asks, “What _do_ you need, Sebastian?”

To his surprise, Sebastian smirks at him. “Could definitely go for a smoke,” he tells him, voice rough from disuse. It’s a little shocking to hear, if only because he’s never seen Sebastian smoke around him before, but Chris has to admit the idea of a cigarette sounds far better than it should. Before Chris can think to scold Sebastian for such an unhealthy habit, a laugh bubbles out of him.

“Yeah,” he says, letting himself run his thumb over Sebastian’s face. “Me too.” He can feel tension seep out of Sebastian from the touch and goes further than he means to, kissing Sebastian’s forehead. When he pulls back, Sebastian is smiling to himself. Chris’s heart flutters. “Got a pack around?”

Sebastian wordlessly pulls open the drawer on his bedside table. Amongst several bottles of lube and a strip of condoms is a pack of cigarettes. Chris pretends not to see the rest of the contents once Sebastian closes the drawer back up. He’s not sure why looking at them now makes him so shy.

Sebastian holds it out, but Chris only takes one from the pack and sets it back down on the bedside table. If he brings the whole thing out on the balcony he’s worried he’s going to chain-smoke his way through a love confession, which neither of them need right now. 

“Just one,” he says, almost to himself. When he notices Sebastian’s pout he adds, “You should be quitting. You’ve got quite a few years of Bucky Barnes training ahead of you.”

Colour rises to Sebastian’s cheeks and Chris wonders if he’s recalling the months they spent training for Winter Soldier together. Chris can’t help but jump to the memories either. A flash goes through Chris’s mind, pinning Sebastian to the mat and feeling his breath catch in his chest, watching his eyes dilate. He wonders if Sebastian even remembers. He wonders if Sebastian ever even realized.

They walk out onto the balcony and Chris sits Sebastian down in the closer of the two wicker chairs before putting the cigarette to his own lips to light it. He steals the first drag, and it tastes incredibly stale, but it’s been so long that he lets the heat fill his lungs and releases the smoke with a satisfied sigh. 

“My first cigarette since 2009,” he says as he hands it over to Sebastian, as if it’s something that he’s even really thought about the past few years.

He’d never been much of a smoker to begin with, himself. When Marvel first came to him with a workout regimen, he figured it’d be easiest to just rid himself of them entirely. He wonders how hard it’ll be for Sebastian to quit, but he feels like now isn’t a good time to ask.

Watching as Sebastian inhales, Chris takes in the way his body seems to sag back into the wicker chair. Smoke curls from his mouth as he says almost ashamedly, “This is my first one in six months.” Chris smirks. That explains why it tastes so stale. Sebastian’s holding it out, away from himself, and Chris takes it to mean he’s willing to share it between them. Their fingers brush as he pulls the cigarette from Sebastian’s hand and takes another drag.

“Trying to quit?” he asks conversationally as he hands it back over. Sebastian doesn’t look at him.

“I guess,” he says, twisting the cigarette a little in his fingers. He sounds melancholy, and taps the ash onto the concrete. “I haven’t...really needed it, lately.” He inhales too fast to be enjoyable and shoves the cigarette back at Chris, still staring at the floor.

Guilt washes over Chris in a fresh wave. He hadn’t needed it for six months, and tonight, when Chris asked him what he _needed_ , the first goddamn thing he had asked for was a fucking cigarette. He’s not helping. If anything, he’s making this worse.

He shrugs, forcing himself to look nonchalant. “Yeah,” he grinds out in a voice as passive as he can manage. He takes another drag for himself and tries to remember that Sebastian wants him here. He doesn’t want to ask again. He doesn’t want to be needy, especially not now, when Sebastian should really only focus on himself. He wishes there was another way to make sure.

At a loss, he hands the cigarette back in silence. They smoke it to the filter together without another word between them. Chris watches the view of the street, keeping Sebastian in his sights along the corner of his eye. Sebastian watches his own hands.

“I feel better,” Sebastian says once they’re back inside. His tone is anxious, as if he’s only trying to prove something. Chris drops onto the bed, and a hint of relief is on Sebastian’s face. He still needs time. He just doesn’t want to ask.

“Good.” It isn’t that Chris doesn’t believe him. In fact, he probably believes him more than Sebastian does himself. He’s looking better, and he’s steadier on his feet. Back at the club, he barely seemed capable of speech. But he still lets Chris tug him by his wrist until he follows resignedly into the bed. 

“You need more rest,” he tells him without room for argument.

His heart flutters when Sebastian wriggles back into his chest, melting when Chris tentatively spoons up against him. Brazenly, Chris squeezes him close. His heart is pounding and Sebastian doesn’t move, doesn’t even go tense. Chris can feel his pulse in his own neck, his ears roaring as he musters the courage to place a kiss on Sebastian’s throat.

“I’m not tired,” Sebastian pouts. Chris scolds himself for hearing a breathless hint to his voice. Sebastian isn’t hopeful for anything, he’s merely run ragged from the past forty-eight hours.

Still, it’s nice to hear him have the wherewithal to be so stubborn. Chris doesn’t move his mouth away from Sebastian’s neck, letting his lips brush over skin as he talks. “All right,” he says, barely able to hear himself over the pounding in his ears. “Then just lie still for a minute.” 

Sebastian grunts, not quite an answer, but he still hasn’t moved away. Chris squeezes his eyes shut and listens to Sebastian breathe.

Sebastian is asleep again in minutes, and Chris shifts just far enough back that he can watch him. He looks healthy, not as sallow as he had before when curled into Chris’s chest. He’s always looked peaceful in his sleep, but it feels different now. This could be the last time.

Reflexively, Chris tucks a piece of hair behind Sebastian’s ear. “I want to tell you,” he says again, still only brave enough to breach this subject when Sebastian isn’t conscious to contribute. He runs a finger along Sebastian’s cheekbone. When Sebastian doesn’t react, Chris presses a kiss to his temple.

His jaw hurts from grinding his teeth. His throat hurts in his effort to keep from crying. 

“I can’t,” he says finally. “I want to, but I can’t. It has to be – this has to be up to you, Sebastian. I can’t decide what we are. I can’t – can’t make you...” Sebastian huffs quietly in his sleep, and Chris freezes, terrified.

Sebastian’s hand tightens around nothing, and Chris reaches out to brush his thumb over his knuckles. 

“Seb?” He waits for a response, and when he doesn’t get one, he drops his forehead to Sebastian’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

It’s not enough. Chris doesn’t think it ever will be. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. This is all my fault. I wanted – wanted to give you everything. I want everything for you, you know?” He feels tears in his eyes, but doesn’t try and force them back this time, careful to stay quiet. He kisses just behind Sebastian’s ear, smiling weakly when he hears him let out a pleased little noise in his sleep, and curls tight around him. “I need – I need you to tell me what to do.”

He’s afraid to fall asleep in case Sebastian wakes up again, but he’s been awake too long, drained and hysterical after everything. He buries his face in Sebastian’s throat and listens to the steady beat of his pulse. He wants to stay awake in case Sebastian needs him, but it’s safe and relaxed wrapped around him. 

Sebastian is safe now. He’ll be safe as long as Chris doesn’t let him go. He’s going to be okay. It’s calming, listening to his slow heartbeat and deep even breathing, and Chris finally lets himself drift off. 

The light from the window is the dusty pink of early morning when Chris wakes to Sebastian wriggling awkwardly in his arms. _Not yet,_ he thinks before he even understands why. _Please not yet._

Before he can speak, he hears Sebastian’s voice, timid and curious, “Why are you being so nice?”

It’s like a punch to the stomach. Chris feels the air leave him in a rush, and for a moment he lies there as if in shock. He barely remembers what Sebastian asked, only knows that he shouldn’t feel the need to ask it. Why doesn’t Sebastian know this isn’t his fault? 

Taking a deep breath, Chris manages to ask, “What do you mean?”

Sebastian squirms again, and Chris’s grip on him tightens. _Not yet not yet not yet._

“I should be punished,” Sebastian says, and Chris is glad his face is still buried in the nape of his neck. He doesn’t have the presence to school his expression. He can’t tell if he’s more horrified or confused by Sebastian’s words, but either way he doesn’t want Sebastian to know.

“You’re giving me soup and cigarettes and I wasn’t...” Sebastian swallows and tries again. “You told me – I didn’t...” He doesn’t know what terms to use anymore, how to discuss this. Chris feels his blood running tight in his veins. He’s just as lost as Chris is. “I went against you,” he finally settles.

Chris shakes his head. He wants to argue. This isn’t Sebastian’s fault, he has to know that. Sebastian didn’t do anything worth punishing. But the words get caught in his throat. He must know that. Maybe that’s not the point. Maybe this isn’t over.

_I should be punished._ Not a question, not a plea. Just a statement, like he thinks it’s what should happen. 

Chris takes a deep breath. “If you really feel like you need it,” he says, words muffled against Sebastian’s shoulder blades, “I’ll punish you when you’re ready for it.”

To his surprise, he feels Sebastian ease back into in his arms at that. Chris tamps down the sudden rush of blood to his face. This isn’t over. This is what Sebastian wants. Chris still has a chance. “After a crash like that,” he says quickly, trying to drown out his own torrent of thoughts, “I’m going to make sure you _are_ ready first. Do you think you’re ready now?”

Silence stretches for too long to be _yes._ Chris focuses on trying to steady his heartbeat. He can feel himself shaking, and hopes Sebastian can’t tell from how tightly he’s holding him. 

“I feel better,” Sebastian finally supplies, and relief makes Chris’s head swim.

“Good,” he sighs, placing a quick kiss on his nape, “but not what I asked. Are you ready to be punished for what you did?” The words feel awkward in his mouth when he doesn’t feel like Sebastian has even done anything worthy of punishment, but this isn’t about him. This is about what Sebastian wants, and if Sebastian wants to be punished, Chris will do it for him.

“No,” Sebastian sighs, nuzzling into Chris’s grip, reaffirming. They can be okay. They can still have this. _Chris_ can still have this. Scott was right. He hasn’t ruined anything, Sebastian still wants this – still wants this from him. The assurance makes him lightheaded.

Chris feels exhausted from the sudden absence of anxiety. “Okay,” he says breezily, his eyes sliding closed. “I’m going to take care of you until you’re ready, okay?”

Sebastian twists a little in his arms, leaning against Chris’s chest. He wonders if Sebastian is looking at him, but is too scared to look. “Why?” he asks, and Chris is just awake enough to keep the real answer quiet.

He can’t love him. Not yet. “Because you’re mine,” he says instead, because it’s still allowed to be true, even after everything. Sebastian is his. He tightens his grip around Sebastian’s chest and falls back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> title still from "Call Off Your Ghost" by Dessa
> 
> apparently 65k+ was not enough for me. Still no real clue why I'm doing this and I'm honestly also starting to wonder how as well. I apologize again, and double my apologies to anyone related to the Marvel franchise, really at all in any way. Tags will change as chapters update. I promise this won't be as long as You Once Said - dunno if that's more a bummer or a relief to you guys lmao.


End file.
